We had two heavy, black rotary dial telephones in our house. My older brothers told me that if I picked up the receiver and dialed zero, the operator would answer. This scared me, the idea that no matter when I picked up that phone, she would be there, waiting. “Operator. Can I help you?” Operator. Even the word sounded creepy. Did she perform surgery? Did she know where I lived? My brothers assured me that she did, but that she enjoyed hearing from customers, especially little boys who called her repeatedly for no good reason. I believed and trusted my brothers, even though these were the same two people who had once urged me to stick the handle of a metal spoon into an electrical outlet.
* * * * *
When I was around four, I used to watch a show called Captain Kangaroo. The Captain hosted an assortment of odd characters, but one in particular caused my heart to stop for seconds at a time. It was the Dancing Bear. He was exactly the height of a grown man dressed up in a bear costume, and most of the time he just stood in the corner. As the Captain and his friends entertained me with their playful antics, I’d catch occasional glimpses of the bear, motionless and silent. It was hard to remain amused, because I knew what was coming. At least once during every show, classical music would suddenly start playing and Dancing Bear would spring to life, waltzing around the room. This terrified me. It wasn’t so much the waltzing, which was surprisingly elegant for a bear (and especially so for a man dressed as a bear). Rather it was those times in between, when there was the possibility that he could start dancing at any moment. Not knowing when it would happen is what frightened me.
* * * * *
At the Bronx Zoo there was a small structure called the World of Reptiles. You entered through a door at the front and exited at the back. In between, there was nothing but darkness and thick air and people and glass enclosures housing lizards, turtles, and snakes. Black, silver, and brown snakes, wrapped up and tucked into the corners of the tanks like scaly fire hoses. You had to look for a while before you saw them, because they rarely moved. Sometimes other people tapped on the tanks, so I felt compelled to try, too. Petrified, I would reach out a finger and inch closer, pulling my hand back the moment a single one of my skin cells came into contact with the glass. That transparent barrier offered little reassurance. If the glass were a quarter-inch thick, that meant my finger was that close to the snake. It was the proximity that I found unsettling. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, to head for the sunlight and the pond where the otters and the seals swam. To this day if I’m reading a book that has photographs of snakes, when I go to turn the page, I can’t touch the pictures.
* * * * *
Our house was built almost right up against the house next door. My room was on an inside wall, and when I got into bed at night I could hear our neighbors talking. The voices were muffled, indistinct. It sounded like human speech, but I could never make out a word of it. At the time I didn’t realize I was listening to my neighbors. All I knew was that there were voices in my room, spooky voices that could have been coming from the closet, or from inside my head. Or ghosts. Or the devil.
* * * * *
My parents used to take us to visit friends of theirs, and in the summer we would all go swimming at a nearby lake. The water in the lake was never clear, and the bottom always felt squishy. What was down there? It felt like wet leaves, but it could have been an octopus or a bunch of eels or even decaying bodies. That lake is where I learned to tread water.
* * * * *
Diver Dan was another show I used to watch. These seven-minute episodes involved a deep-sea diver who wore an enormous metal helmet and had conversations with fish puppets. His enemies were Baron Barracuda, who was long and pointy and had sharp teeth, and Trigger, a stupid striped fish with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Whenever they were on screen, I would back away from the television. I did the same thing with the Wizard of Oz, near the end of the movie, when Dorothy is talking to Auntie Em in the crystal ball and suddenly the witch’s face appears.
* * * * *
One of my cousins lived in an apartment building with an incinerator. When they had something to throw away, they walked down the hall and opened a heavy green door. Inside was a chute that led to the basement and an enormous fire that burned constantly. Anything that went down to the incinerator was reduced to ash. I never touched the handle of that chute, or even the door. This was, I was certain, one of the side entrances to Hell.
* * * * *
Cartoons often used Venus Fly Traps to scare the wits out of us. This fear was especially irrational, I knew, because the fly trap was just a plant and I was pretty sure if I ever met up with one I could take it, no problem. I had the strength, the reach, and the foot speed. Also, my parents had hedge clippers. But again it was the idea that the fly trap was sitting there, waiting. And thinking.
* * * * *
Moldy food gave me the willies. Where did the mold come from? Was it in the food all along, biding its time? This thought made me want to stop eating altogether. I used to go to a restaurant that served salad with gorgonzola cheese sprinkled on top. It was the highlight of the meal. The thing is, the restaurant was really dark and I never got a good look at the cheese. Then I ordered it somewhere else, someplace with better lighting. When I complained about the mold, the waiter politely explained that all gorgonzola looked like that. I couldn’t finish my dinner.
* * * * *
I’ve outgrown most of my childhood terrors. But there are things that still bother me, things that seem to be remnants of those early fears.
I get anxious around ironing boards, staplers, umbrellas, folding ladders, and anything that can snap shut and pinch my fingers. This, I imagine, is somehow connected to the Venus Fly Trap. If I grab something in the back of the refrigerator that’s covered with mold, I become momentarily paralyzed; then, strangely, I find myself wishing for an incinerator.
I still don’t like swimming in lakes, or being submerged for any length of time. This is probably another lingering result of watching television as a child. I can still recall the episode in which Diver Dan was trapped in an underwater cave and rapidly running out of air. In those days, back in the late fifties and early sixties, the hero never died, but I had no way of understanding that. Today the hero doesn’t always make it, and when I watch a movie in which someone is struggling to breathe, I struggle too. The worst ways to die, I imagine, are suffocating and being eaten alive. That’s the reason I’ll never go scuba diving. It combines the two ways into one unthinkable possibility: I meet up with a barracuda and a striped fish and they decide to eat my oxygen tank as an appetizer. Then, when they’re finished devouring me, they both light up cigarettes.
Muffled voices still bother me. Working with electricity makes me nervous, but that’s a healthy concern and there seems to be little chance I’ll accidentally stick a spoon into an outlet. I’m also over my zerophobia, and if I ever visit another zoo I think I could even handle the World of Reptiles. But if the bears start dancing, I’m gone.
charlespaolino
December 3, 2010
I have an opposite recollection regarding telephones. The first phones I remember had no dials. When you picked up the receiver, there was a live operator at the other end who said, “Number, plee-uzz.” Then you told her the number, and she connected your call. The operator, no matter who she was, actually pronounced “please” that way – “plee-uzz.” Apparently she was instructed to, though I don’t know why. Anyway,when I was little I liked the idea that the operator was always at the other end of that phone. I figured it meant that I was never really alone.
I told one of my college classes that there was a time when you picked up a phone and there was a live operator at the other end. They had never heard of it, but they thought it sounded a little like science fiction.
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bronxboy55
December 3, 2010
Do you think the phone company thought that pronunciation sounded classy?
I understand your finding comfort in knowing the operator was always there, but I remember making several prank calls at someone’s urging and having the operator get pretty testy with me. I also recall playing with the phone — unscrewing the ear- and mouth-piece covers, removing the components inside, then replacing the covers and waiting for my parents to try making a call. Again, I wouldn’t have thought of that on my own, but I’m pretty sure I was the one who got into trouble for it.
I guess your students have never watched The Andy Griffith Show.
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Chelsey Rogerson
December 3, 2010
I laughed out loud @ “one of the side entrances to hell” !
Such a great post! I’ll have to start thinking about all of the things that scare me and why!
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bronxboy55
December 3, 2010
Thanks, Chelsey. I appreciate the kind words, and I’m really impressed with your blog:
http://socialeyez.ca/
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Mitch
December 3, 2010
You’re killing me! You were scared of Dancing Bear? Loved him! Then again, I loved them all, especially Mr. Moose. lol
The ironing board I kind of understand. I still have a fear of irons, even though I can use one, because when I was 2 I burned my leg on one when Mom set it on the floor; the scar is gone, but not mentally just yet.
Amazing what we kids come up with to scare ourselves, isn’t it?
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bronxboy55
December 4, 2010
Also amazing how you can remember getting burned when you were two. Some things just make an impression, in more ways than one.
I liked Mr. Moose, too. Do you remember Uncle Backwards?
I guess we’re showing our age now.
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Mitch
December 6, 2010
We are showing our ages, but no, I don’t remember Uncle Backwards; was that also on Captain Kangaroo? Now I remember Mr. Greenjeans, but who wouldn’t?
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bronxboy55
December 6, 2010
Uncle Backwards would do some mundane activity, like pouring water from a pitcher into a glass. Then they’d roll the film backward and it would look as though the water were coming out of the glass and up into the pitcher. We were easily entertained back then.
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Mitch
December 11, 2010
That must have been some years after I wasn’t watching it anymore because I don’t remember any character like that. I even asked my wife and she didn’t remember either. Stunned!
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arborfamiliae
December 3, 2010
Many of these fears–like many fears in general–seem quite reasonable to me. I think there’s a place for a healthy fear of things that could snap shut on one of our appendages, or bite us and cause great pain, or shoot the equivalent of lightning through our body.
The problem is deciding what to be afraid of. I can logically take one step at a time–from one fear to another–and get somewhere that’s totally unreasonable (e.g., if a poisonous snake’s bite could cause me great pain and suffering, then I better stay away from poisonous snakes and if I’m not sure which snakes are poisonous, I better stay away from all snakes and if I’m not sure where a snake might be lurking, I better stay away from anywhere they might be and if I’m not sure where they hang out, I better just stay inside and blog all day).
If there’s one thing I fear, it’s falling into a pseudo-logical trap of fearing things that shouldn’t be feared. Sad, isn’t it?
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bronxboy55
December 4, 2010
Blogging could be dangerous, too, especially if real lightning strikes while we’re online. Better just to stay in bed. Oh, wait. What about bedsores? Then infection…
That just reminded me, my wife and I watched As Good As It Gets last night, for about the fifteenth time. There are still things in that movie I’d never noticed.
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mitch@morphodesigns.com
December 6, 2010
Lightning and mice. My only two bugbears. When I was a wee lad, I was told “NEVER stand under trees during a thunderstom.” I used to walk to a day camp about a dozen blocks from my city home. One afternoon, just as camp ended, a thunderstorm rolled up. I was terrified because TREES LINED BOTH SIDES of the streets that I had to walk (run) to get home.
The idea of waiting out the storm was never taught to me. Duh.
Mice are another story for another time.
Cheers,
Mitch
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bronxboy55
December 6, 2010
Lightning is in its own category, I think, because it’s so very unlikely that you’ll be hit AND so very likely that you’ll be killed instantly if you are. There just aren’t many people walking around who’ve been struck by lightning and are still coherent enough to tell you about it. On the other hand, we probably all have mice stories. Looking forward to hearing yours. Thanks, Mitch.
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Marie M
December 3, 2010
Your humorous posts never fail to make me smile (or LOL). Thanks for sharing so much of yourself, so well!
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bronxboy55
December 4, 2010
I guess I’m working my way up to high school memories. Any suggestions?
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Marie M
December 4, 2010
Not many . . . . Most of my past has, perhaps sadly (perhaps not!), been forgotten. But there are a few glimmers of isolated moments now and then. How about something regarding those kind of cool simulated cars we had in Drivers’ Ed? Cutting edge then, I believe. My kids, now that the youngest are taking Drivers’ Ed–no, I can’t accept that, it must be from an alternate reality–think I’m making this up. Maybe you’ll recall an adventure or two in those, or worse, when we actually drove a REAL car with a couple of our classmates at the wheel. Yikes!
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bronxboy55
December 5, 2010
For some reason I never got the chance to try the simulators, but I can still picture exactly where they were. And I remember sitting in the back seat while others student drove. Like you, I think I’ve repressed most of the details.
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Allan Douglas
December 4, 2010
I understand your trepidation over Dancing Bear… everyone KNOWS bears don’t waltz…
They much prefer a good polka.
Another great story, Charles, Thanks!
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bronxboy55
December 4, 2010
The guy inside the bear suit was a man named Cosmo Allegretti, who did the voices for Mr. Moose and Mr. Bunny Rabbit. I think he also did Grandfather Clock, which had eyes that opened and closed, and was another one of those weird characters that made me nervous.
Thanks for the nice comment, Allan. I’ve been enjoying your bog, as well:
http://allandouglasdesigns.com/blog/
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Betty Londergan
December 4, 2010
I was never allowed to stay up late or watch TV, so naturally when I spent the night at my best friend Nancy’s house, I stayed up as long as possible watching TV. So I was the only one at the sleepover up at 3 a.m. to see the boxing movie where Anthony Quinn beat the other boxer to death in the boxing ring. It terrified me beyond description — and I still can’t watch anybody hit anybody — in the ring or outside — it totally freaks me out. So yeah … I get EXACTLY what you are saying. GREAT post!!
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bronxboy55
December 4, 2010
It makes you wonder what kinds of fears our kids have that we never know about. A lot of the things I wrote about in this post would have been laughed away as silly by the adults, so I doubt I ever mentioned them.
Was the movie Requiem For A Heavyweight?
Thanks for the comment, Betty.
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partialview
December 4, 2010
Another great one!
I am absolutely terrified of the sound of dripping water and tick-tocking clocks. Strange how seemingly innocuous things become so larger-than-normal-scary-things!
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bronxboy55
December 4, 2010
Were those sounds connected to some frightening incidents in your life? Or they could have represented danger in a film that you saw, and the movie’s since been forgotten but the fears have stuck around. Maybe you could write a post about it.
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partialview
December 5, 2010
Not that I recollect. Dripping water is definitely related to a story one evil girl told me about blood dripping from the organs of the victims of a particularly indiscriminate ghost, I think. For obvious reasons, I’d not like to recall the ticking clocks ones. Or perhaps I already remember it now. Could be the story of the hearts beating in the man’s room. Hearts of the ones he’d killed. It was a Roald Dahl story, I think. Oh God! My mother was right. I shouldn’t have read fear-giving stories at night.
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bronxboy55
December 5, 2010
Or maybe Edgar Allan Poe?
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partialview
December 5, 2010
Of course!
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Amiable Amiable
December 4, 2010
Captain Kangaroo, Dancing Bear, Mr. Greenjeans, Grandfather Clock! I loved them all! But the thought of an adult beneath the Dancing Bear costume creeped me out, which is probably why I didn’t let my kids watch Barney.
The operator behind the ZERO was also frightening for me. As was the idea that, because of warnings from my grandfather, I was terrified of dialing any combination of numbers and possibly reaching another country and someone who didn’t speak English. I realized years later that my grandfather instilled that fear because he didn’t want to pay the resulting bill. Honestly, I’m still scared about what might happen if I pressed a string of random numbers on the phone. As much as I love traveling to distant lands, I just can’t get over that fear!
Can you write a post every day? They’re always a highlight of my day when I read one!
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bronxboy55
December 4, 2010
I had the same fear about accidentally dialing a long-distance number — although it was harder to do with a rotary dial. Imagine being a salesperson back in those days and having to make hundreds of calls to prospective customers. Was there an injury called Phone Finger? But remember how when you called a wrong number, you could tell the operator and she’d remove it from your phone bill? In that sense, those were the days.
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shoreacres
December 4, 2010
You know, I can’t remember ever watching Captain Kangaroo, so I’m ignorant of dancing bears and such. Strange, since I well remember the days of “Number, please…” But in the midwest, “please” was always and ever one syllable.
My only real childhood fear was dogs. Some nice neighbors gave me a black cocker spaniel puppy for a birthday gift when I was maybe five or six years old. I jumped up on top of the dining room table and refused to come down until they removed the silly thing. I finally got over that when I had to walk past a dog on my way to junior high. I took the advice to pretend as though I weren’t afraid, and sure enough, pretty soon I wasn’t afraid, the dog got bored and all was well.
What do I fear today? Politicians. My mom outliving not only her money but my money. The food police banning ice cream because it’s bad for us. That’s about it!
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bronxboy55
December 5, 2010
By the time the food police get around to banning ice cream, the language police will have made it illegal to complain about it. Censorship is at the top of my list.
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jharris
December 4, 2010
You know, Charles, many of these fears don’t seem unreasonable to me. The indistinct voices, the reptiles, the lurking operator… It’s just the accretion of them as you’ve listed them here that makes a person want to crawl under a bed, hopefully one without spiders or outlets into which one could stick metal kitchen implements. It’s amazing how many things there are to fear, particularly when ignorance compounds the fear — not knowing that the voices were neighbors, or what the mossy things were at the bottoms of lakes — and even more amazing that we all (generally) manage to survive and even thrive in the face of myriad terrors.
Nice post. You strung all these moments and memories together like beads on a necklace and then looped the ends neatly at the conclusion. Well done.
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bronxboy55
December 5, 2010
Thanks, Julia. And you hit it exactly: it’s almost always the not knowing. We had a pet mouse a few years ago (okay, he was a rat), and he was cute and affectionate. But you take a rat — even that very same one — and put him inside one of the walls in our home, and the scratching sounds become disturbing. It isn’t just that we don’t really know what it is; it’s also that we don’t know how many there are or what they’re doing. Our ignorance then feeds into our imagination, and we create terror completely disconnected from reality. But then I wonder how much of that is unconsciously intentional. We seem to like being scared. Why else would we pay good money to watch horror movies and walk through haunted houses and get onto amusement park rides that will separate our bodily fluids? On some level, it’s fun.
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greg urbano
December 5, 2010
your telephone could also be on a party line in those days, so picking up the receiver would allow you to eavesdrop on your neighbors conversations!
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shoreacres
December 5, 2010
I lived once in a small town where a church, the post office and the local gas station shared a party line….
The system was nearly as efficient at passing gossip as normal small-town channels. 😉
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bronxboy55
December 5, 2010
Plus, you could say a prayer, check your mail, and schedule an oil change, all at the same time.
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bronxboy55
December 5, 2010
Greg, I guess that was social networking, without the visuals.
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Earth Ocean Sky Redux
December 5, 2010
My grandmother lived on Lake Erie in Cleveland and to get down to the lake we had to descend through a cement bunker of 82 steps. My job was to count the steps every time we went down and my sister told me that if I counted wrong, I’d never be able to get back up to grandmas house. She could get back but not I. I believed her, of course, as younger sibs are programmed to do. My first cousin now lives in that house and when there a few months ago, I started to shake as we went down to the beach, praying I’d count exactly 82. Phew. Time for therapy? 🙂
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bronxboy55
December 5, 2010
It doesn’t seem to matter how far we’ve come or how rational we think we’ve become. Those childhood fears will not go quietly.
Thanks for the comment.
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cooperstownersincanada
December 8, 2010
Great piece! I hear you about your feet touching the bottom of lakes. I share your phobia. I, too, am also uncomfortable around staplers. My cousin had an unfortunate childhood incident with a stapler when I was young. Nice work!
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bronxboy55
December 8, 2010
Thanks, Kevin. And I’m not going in any more lakes, so when you find out what that is down there, let me know.
On second thought, don’t tell me.
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