This past week, Janie Hodge passed away.
Unless you grew
up around Indianapolis, that probably doesn't ring a bell. For Hoosier kids who
grew up in the 1970’s, it feels like one of the neighborhood grownups has left
us.
Janie felt like a family member. She felt like our favorite teacher. She wasn't a big celebrity outside of Central Indiana.
She sat in our living rooms almost every day. She introduced Popeye cartoons, sang songs, talked to puppets, reminded us to be kind and curious, and somehow managed to make every kid watching television feel like they mattered.
Her passing made me realize something. She was the last connection to an era that can never exist again.
I was lucky enough to have two childhoods.
Growing up in Chicago, my television friends were Bozo, Ray Rayner and Garfield Goose.
When I visited and then moved to Indianapolis, Janie and Cowboy Bob stepped in and somehow made me feel at home.
Looking back now, it is amazing how local television could accomplish that. Chicago kids knew Bozo's Grand Prize Game like it was the Super Bowl. We all imagined ourselves throwing those ping-pong balls into the buckets. Ray Rayner made cartoons feel like hanging out with your favorite uncle while Cuddly Duddly faithfully sat beside him every morning. Garfield Goose, with his oversized crown and unmistakable desk tapping, somehow convinced us that a giant goose could run a television station.
Then there was Indianapolis.
Janie made learning seem effortless. One minute she'd be introducing Popeye, the next she'd be teaching music, talking about the zoo, welcoming Scout troops into her show or taking us somewhere around Indiana.
And Cowboy Bob?
Every kid wanted to ride along with Cowboy Bob. He sang campfire songs, cracked corny jokes, introduced cartoons and always made the afternoon feel like an adventure. His dog Tumbleweed was nearly as famous as he was.
Those television shows weren't just background noise. They became part of the rhythm of childhood.
Breakfast tasted better with a bowl of Cap'n Crunch, HoneyCombs or Lucky Charms while cartoons played before school.
Summer lunches meant a ham sandwich on white bread, a glass of Kool-Aid and whatever cartoon happened to be on.
After school meant dropping your books by the door, grabbing a handful of Oreos or another bowl of cereal. Because somehow cereal counted as a snack as we raced to the television before the show started.
There were only a handful of channels back in the day. No streaming, no pause button and no recording it on a VHS tape or Betamax.
If you missed it, you missed it. Funny how scarcity made things feel more special.
Our television personalities weren't trying to become national celebrities. You would see them in Christmas parades, county fairs, shopping malls and charity events. Meeting Bozo or Cowboy Bob felt as exciting as spotting your favorite baseball player walking through the grocery store.
Looking back, I realize they were doing something much bigger than filling television time. They taught manners without preaching. They encouraged imagination without expensive toys. They reminded us to read. They reminded us to share, but most importantly, they made us feel safe.
For thirty or sixty minutes every day, the world was simple. Mom was in the kitchen, and dad would be home after work. Our biggest decision was whether to ride bikes, play Wiffle Ball or stay inside for one more cartoon.
Janie's passing reminded me that we weren't just saying goodbye to a television host. We are saying goodbye to an entire generation of local heroes who quietly helped raise us.
Today kids can choose from thousands of channels, millions of videos and endless entertainment. I still think we had the better deal. Chicago had Bozo, Ray Rayner and Garfield Goose. Indianapolis had Janie and Cowboy Bob.
Most of all, we had people who climbed into our living rooms every day, asked for nothing in return and somehow left us believing the world was a friendly place.
I hope today's chalkboard gives my Chicago and Hoosier Chalkheads one more Kodachrome look at the sunny days of our youth...
…because those colors haven't faded one bit.
Janie felt like a family member. She felt like our favorite teacher. She wasn't a big celebrity outside of Central Indiana.
She sat in our living rooms almost every day. She introduced Popeye cartoons, sang songs, talked to puppets, reminded us to be kind and curious, and somehow managed to make every kid watching television feel like they mattered.
Her passing made me realize something. She was the last connection to an era that can never exist again.
I was lucky enough to have two childhoods.
Growing up in Chicago, my television friends were Bozo, Ray Rayner and Garfield Goose.
When I visited and then moved to Indianapolis, Janie and Cowboy Bob stepped in and somehow made me feel at home.
Looking back now, it is amazing how local television could accomplish that. Chicago kids knew Bozo's Grand Prize Game like it was the Super Bowl. We all imagined ourselves throwing those ping-pong balls into the buckets. Ray Rayner made cartoons feel like hanging out with your favorite uncle while Cuddly Duddly faithfully sat beside him every morning. Garfield Goose, with his oversized crown and unmistakable desk tapping, somehow convinced us that a giant goose could run a television station.
Then there was Indianapolis.
Janie made learning seem effortless. One minute she'd be introducing Popeye, the next she'd be teaching music, talking about the zoo, welcoming Scout troops into her show or taking us somewhere around Indiana.
And Cowboy Bob?
Every kid wanted to ride along with Cowboy Bob. He sang campfire songs, cracked corny jokes, introduced cartoons and always made the afternoon feel like an adventure. His dog Tumbleweed was nearly as famous as he was.
Those television shows weren't just background noise. They became part of the rhythm of childhood.
Breakfast tasted better with a bowl of Cap'n Crunch, HoneyCombs or Lucky Charms while cartoons played before school.
Summer lunches meant a ham sandwich on white bread, a glass of Kool-Aid and whatever cartoon happened to be on.
After school meant dropping your books by the door, grabbing a handful of Oreos or another bowl of cereal. Because somehow cereal counted as a snack as we raced to the television before the show started.
There were only a handful of channels back in the day. No streaming, no pause button and no recording it on a VHS tape or Betamax.
If you missed it, you missed it. Funny how scarcity made things feel more special.
Our television personalities weren't trying to become national celebrities. You would see them in Christmas parades, county fairs, shopping malls and charity events. Meeting Bozo or Cowboy Bob felt as exciting as spotting your favorite baseball player walking through the grocery store.
Looking back, I realize they were doing something much bigger than filling television time. They taught manners without preaching. They encouraged imagination without expensive toys. They reminded us to read. They reminded us to share, but most importantly, they made us feel safe.
For thirty or sixty minutes every day, the world was simple. Mom was in the kitchen, and dad would be home after work. Our biggest decision was whether to ride bikes, play Wiffle Ball or stay inside for one more cartoon.
Janie's passing reminded me that we weren't just saying goodbye to a television host. We are saying goodbye to an entire generation of local heroes who quietly helped raise us.
Today kids can choose from thousands of channels, millions of videos and endless entertainment. I still think we had the better deal. Chicago had Bozo, Ray Rayner and Garfield Goose. Indianapolis had Janie and Cowboy Bob.
Most of all, we had people who climbed into our living rooms every day, asked for nothing in return and somehow left us believing the world was a friendly place.
I hope today's chalkboard gives my Chicago and Hoosier Chalkheads one more Kodachrome look at the sunny days of our youth...
…because those colors haven't faded one bit.
