That’s right…we’ve had one more trip around the sun, and another year of remembering the life and legacy of our beloved Dave Garroway. We’ve come so far since our very first post all those many years ago, when this little project was just getting started and the book was little more than an aspiration. Now the book is out there (in the fancy hardcover version, in a casebound version, in paperback, and for Kindle) and it’s sold some copies, and we remain pleased with what we’ve achieved and hope we’ve helped show the world some sides of Dave Garroway that have too often been neglected.
Of course, just because the book’s published doesn’t mean we don’t stop finding new things. A couple new items arrived in the mail this week, vignettes from moments frozen in time. I’ll present them here – and please forgive the watermarks, but these are special items and I want to protect them. I think you’ll be able to enjoy them, regardless.
The first is from a large-scale color transparency that I had to do a great deal of color-correction on. It’s still not as good as it could be, but it’s a lot better than the washed-out version I started with. This was taken a few minutes before 9 a.m. Eastern on May 5, 1952. The two East Coast hours of Today have ended, and there’s a brief pause to regroup before the second hour for Central Time begins. To the left, Jack Lescoulie sits, taking a pause before announcing the top-of-hour program intro. Up front, a floor crewman reviews the rundown while a cameraman looks away from his TK-30’s viewfinder. Atop the viewfinder is part of a Tele-Q system, an early prompter system.
It’s coming up on four months since Today‘s debut, and there are already changes to the set; the big board that lists the home cities of affiliates, with weather conditions for each, has been mounted between the newsroom and Dave’s desk. Look closely and you’ll see some interesting things on that desk, including some books, a milk carton, and a large envelope. Note also that both Dave and Jack are wearing carnations in their lapels; this could be a run-up to Mother’s Day.1 Dave’s wearing the big RCA BK-4 in a harness rig.
If the first one was washed out, then this one is vivid as life itself. This is from after Today moved into Studio 3K in 1958, and is a vivid Ektachrome by Fred Wertheimer. The caption states that’s Helen O’Connell next to Dave. If that’s the case, this was taken sometime between July 10 and August 15, 1958, for O’Connell had requested her release from the program and was replaced by Betsy Palmer on August 18.
Look at Garroway’s expression. Even though he’s smiling, there’s something about him that seems worn and worried, in contrast to the droll Garroway of 1952. His hair is turning silver and he just looks older somehow. Look closely and you’ll see the pinkie finger of his right hand is completely bandaged; other photos from this same day show it to be a heavy bandage, and it makes me wonder if there’s a splint under it.
The big BK-4s have been replaced by the much smaller (and long-lived) BK-6, which could be worn on a cord or clipped to a lapel.2 In front of Dave is one of the iconic RCA 77 microphones. There are two monitors behind the anchor desk, but in the background there’s just a dark wall. You get the idea of what it was like to move from the bright RCA Exhibition Hall, with its street-level window, into a studio walled off and isolated from the outside world, and of the challenges the program staff faced. In the old storefront studio, all they had to do was turn the camera toward the window, but inside 3K, there was nothing to go to.3
And that’s a little present to you for Dave Garroway’s 111th birthday. Enjoy!
I’ve written on here before about the importance of preserving television history. That’s not just in writing books about people like Dave Garroway, but also in preserving the things that remain. Some of those things are easy to preserve, like books and documents. Other pieces are a little more substantial, but still manageable. And then there’s some that require some effort. That’s what led to an adventure last week.
I’ve been friends with Bobby Ellerbee for several years, and on a few occasions I’ve visited him and his dogs at his home in Georgia. Over the years Bobby amassed a collection of television cameras that spanned a good half-century of the medium’s history. The first time I visited, two rooms were awash with just about every studio camera you could imagine, and his garage had just about enough surplus equipment to start a network.
Over the years, some of Bobby’s collection found new homes at museums or with film prop companies, but his camera room was still nicely populated. Recently, though, he bought a new house. It’s a nice house, but it doesn’t have the display area of the house he’s vacating. Bobby had to make some hard choices. To make a long story short, I got a phone call, and last week I rented a box truck and drove over to his house.
The more the truck filled up, the more I realized this was real, and I started to think about the two happiest days in the life of a boat owner.
In the space of about two and a half hours that Thursday, Bobby and three movers and I loaded four cameras and pedestals, a few boxes of equipment and books, and some other stuff we could put to work in our building. Bobby had told me to rent a truck with a lift gate, and it’s a very good thing I did. Camera pedestals are heavy. By 11 that morning the truck was loaded up and I was headed back home. I spent the afternoon and evening unloading the truck at the office, and that night I drove it back and reclaimed my car.4
The brave rental truck at the end of its travels with me. This was a happy moment, likely for both of us.
So, let’s see what we have.
Longtime readers will be familiar with this: the RCA TK-47. I already had one, but I certainly was not going to pass up another. Unlike mine, the internals of this one are still intact, and as I was cleaning it up I was interested to look inside.5 Bobby had installed vinyl lettering on either side to honor NBC’s flagship stations in New York and Los Angeles. Inside is a property tag from WISH-TV in Indianapolis. Part of me thinks it would be fitting to restore the WISH-TV livery, but I’m awfully fond of the genuine NBC stickers on there, especially since I associate the TK-47 with Saturday Night Live and David Letterman’s late-night NBC show.6 Fortunately, I’ve got a while to decide what to do.
A contemporary of the TK-47 is the Ikegami HK-312, which Bobby had decorated as an ABC camera of the 1980s. It’s appropriate, because ABC used Ikegamis a lot. The Ikegami doesn’t get recognized a lot but it was one of the workhorse cameras of its day, and you’ve watched a lot more television that was brought to you through these machines than you may realize. This particular one has some interesting labels inside about its history, and the box lens has an ABC property tag on it.
Now, here’s a rarity: a Marconi Mark VII. This one actually did belong to Tele-Tape Productions back in the day, which meant it spent a couple years at work in the early days of Sesame Street. What looks like sheet metal damage in the photo is really the reproduction logo, printed on vinyl, separating from the side of the camera. I’m going to replace that as soon as I can get the printing done (the design is pretty much done, but I just need to find someone who can print it to my specifications). In the meantime it’ll wear a rare and very interesting livery that a few Mark VIIs wore for a short period.
No, that’s not the pedestal they used under these when they were in service. Although, given their weight, you can sort of understand it.
And this stylish beast is the RCA TK-42. I’ve seen it described as RCA’s attempt to combine the color of the TK-41 with the sharpness of the monochrome TK-60. Unfortunately, ambition didn’t match execution and the TK-42 was not a hit. NBC itself really didn’t want anything to do with them, so TK-42s and TK-43s were often what brought local stations into the color era.7 The TK-42 was soon superseded by the great and durable TK-44. This one somehow made it to modern times, and even has the proper RCA pedestal and head most often seen beneath them. Unfortunately, it’s missing a few of its internals and has to be balanced with some weights inside, but from the outside you couldn’t tell. The black-and-gold RCA logo disappeared from the right side somewhere along the way, but a very helpful designer with a 3D printer was able to print up a replacement that looks just like it’s always been there, and I’m very happy.
We look much happier wearing the General’s lightning bolt. Now imagine how we’ll look once we’re back on our big ol’ pedestal and we can get a good all-over clean-up and shine.
There’s plenty left to do on these cameras. I’ve done some initial clean-up on them, but when I have time I want to give each one a good going-over to make them look as good as they can.8 There’s also a few things I may do as I find period-correct hardware for these machines. But all that’s down the road. Right now, what matters is that these old machines are safe in their new home, where young eyes will be able to see the equipment that helped make possible what they now take as a given.
I’m happy to announce that Peace will become available in a new format Sept. 30:
I hadn’t planned on an e-reader version of the book, but some things came together to make it possible. The file has now been uploaded and the e-book is now available for pre-order9. It’s scheduled to reach your Kindle device (or reader) on Sept. 30. 10
:: Yes, things have been quiet on the blog of late, and it has a lot to do with other things taking priority here at Garroway at Large World Headquarters. Most of that has to do with the day job, of course, and it eats up a lot of my time and brainpower. Be that as it may, I do have some things in work, including a follow-through on my plans to put signed copies on sale for you loyal readers out there. Since my options for getting copies to sell are now more diverse, that will help. As soon as available resources (read “time, money and brainspace”) come together, I’ll post here and we can get going. Stay tuned.
You may recall that several years ago I wrote about one of my most cherished artifacts, my RCA BK-4 “Starmaker.” The Starmaker, you may recall, was that unusual foot-long microphone that Dave Garroway and his fellow on-air staffers on Today used for the first few years.
Dave wearing a BK-4 on a harness for hands-free operation. (NBC photo)
My Starmaker was in excellent condition, with only one weird scar across the front below the RCA emblem. I figured it was just something that happened while it was being used. From time to time I toyed with the idea of sending it to a microphone specialist for a checkup, but figured it would be one of those “someday” things when I had fewer pressing needs.
A few weeks ago, somebody contacted me about something and, in that way conversations go, the topic of the BK-4 came up. It occurred to me I should pay the little one some attention, so I got it out of storage. What I saw broke my heart. I’d spooled up that super-long cable and placed the microphone atop it. Bad idea, it turned out. The old cable jacket had eaten into the paint, leaving two big and ugly scars across the front of the microphone. The microphone itself was not damaged, but the paint was ruined. I felt kind of sick about it, especially since my own negligence had done this. (I think that weird little scar I mentioned earlier, the one that was already on the microphone, was the result of a similar cable jacket burn.)
I’m going to spare you pictures of the microphone with the paint damage. Instead, here’s a photo of Gilda silently reproving me for being such a doofus with a priceless artifact.
Now, I could have fixed this myself with some careful sanding and a can of spray paint, but I didn’t feel right doing that. An artifact like this deserves the best treatment I could find. And that’s what I decided to do.
I boxed the Starmaker up and sent it off to New Jersey. That’s where Clarence Kane runs ENAK Microphones and Repair Service. Clarence worked for RCA back in the day and, when RCA got out of the microphone business, set up his own service center to keep microphones going. Clarence is now assisted by Luke Petersen, who has been very busy the last several years learning the ins and outs of dozens of microphone types. But instead of telling you about these two, maybe I should let this neat little film speak for me:
I sent my Starmaker off a few weeks ago, and I expected it to take a while. But early last week I got an invoice, and last Thursday UPS brought me a box, and with my heart wedged between my adenoids I cracked the thing open. Inside, very carefully packaged, was my beloved Starmaker…
Complete with a neat little thank-you from Clarence and Luke. I appreciate that, gentlemen…but it is I who should be thanking YOU.
…looking better than it’s looked in forever. Not only had the paint been accurately redone (while preserving the NBC-TV rollmark on the back!), but at my request they had also given it a check-up and installed a new cable with a standard XLR connector (and, also at my request, returned the old cable for historical purposes). All I need is a good pre-amp, and I could put this little one back to work, which is what I think it wants to be doing anyway.
To say I’m happy is an understatement. I was positively giddy over it. And while the reconditioning job was not inexpensive, I have absolutely no regrets. I owed it to that microphone, not only for what my carelessness had done, but also to make sure that microphone will be in good shape for its next 70 years.
If you have an old microphone that needs service, give the folks at ENAK a call or send them an e-mail. I highly recommend them.
:: Things are quiet on the book front, which is much of why you haven’t heard much from me in a while. Right now the main thing is waiting for some paperwork to come down, and waiting for the recommended edits from the copy editor. Things are in work, though, so stay tuned.
In July 1971, Dave Garroway was hosting a summer replacement series called The CBS Newcomers. In that role, he had two duties. One was to be the master of ceremonies, welcoming the audience and introducing the young performers before each segment. The other role was to be Dave Garroway. Over the years Dave had been known for his observations on life – many offbeat, some profound, some worth a chuckle, but all were a vital part of the style that made Dave a favorite with so many.
On one episode of Newcomers, Dave began talking about how Americans lived in a disposable society. “We drink coffee from disposable cups,” he said, “and wipe our faces with disposable napkins. The airlines serve cocktails in disposable glasses.” At that point, Dave reached for his pocket and pulled out an object, holding it up for the cameras. “It saddens me to think there are those watching this show who have never owned one of these. It’s called a fountain pen. It didn’t write under water, and it didn’t write upside down, but it wrote beautifully. And then – get this now! – when it ran dry, you didn’t throw it away. You filled it again – and again – and soon it fit your hand. It got to be your pen.” It was a moment that was pure Garroway. And, in my case, it still packed a punch nearly 50 years later.
The other week, as I was transcribing all these notes, I came to this moment where Dave talked about fountain pens. Like most of you, I’m accustomed to writing with whatever ball-point pen is handy at the moment.11 At the office, I’m fond of those ball-point gel pens with the replaceable cartridges. But something about that passage knocked loose a memory in my mind, and I did something about it.
When I was in high school, I was at a drug store browsing around. In the school supplies aisle, I saw a fountain pen. It was a Parker Vector in a blister pack, the entry-level pen. It cost more than other pens in the aisle, but I got entranced by the idea of writing with something different and bought it. That pen was my best friend the rest of my days in high school. I still have pages and pages of notes written in that flowing, slightly translucent blue ink I fed it through cartridges. That poor pen went through so much – I forget how many times I bent the nib – but it worked like a champ, and it was my pen, my faithful companion. I still have it – somewhere.
And that’s what I started thinking about the other week. Where was my friend, my pen? I searched everywhere, but couldn’t find it. After a while, I still couldn’t find it. No fear; I just ordered a newer pen that came highly recommended, and then a neat clone of a classic pen. Both of them are in the bag I carry to work every day.12 But that wasn’t enough. About that time, a check arrived with some royalties for the book that was published last year.13 And I thought it would be nifty to commemorate that book with a little present to myself. Something that would last. Something I could use. Why not a pen? And not just any pen, but a pen that had fascinated me for a long time?14 So now, a few dollars later, this little beauty is in my collection, a little prize to myself for getting a neat book published after so many years. And it is my pen, and I hope it will be to the last of my days. I love this beauty, this reminder of another time. It feels solid and balanced in my hand. It writes wonderfully. I look forward to a long, happy friendship.
And it’s all because a little aside on a short-lived, little-remembered television show 49 summers ago knocked loose a recollection. There’s still power in Dave’s words. Not a bad legacy to leave.
:: No, we haven’t gone anywhere. We have just been overwhelmed of late by no end of things: a crush of demands at work, a few more demands involving outside work (some of it paying work, too, and we seldom refuse that kind of deal), as well as the overwhelming sense of unease and anxiety in the run up to (and playing out of) Election 2020. With all of that going on, I haven’t been able to spend the time I’ve wanted in Dave’s realm.
I can, however, report that all those pages of notes are steadily being woven into a coherent manuscript – as of right now, I’m up to Dave working as an NBC guide, his eye on taking an announcers’ class. So even though I’m not saying much, this thing is still happening. I do have a contractual deadline, after all, and I keep those kinds of deadlines, no matter how much oil gets burned in the wee hours of the morning to do so.15 Stay tuned, y’all.
As I work industriously on bringing you the finest in Dave Garroway-centric literature16, I come across tidbits that, although they won’t quite fit in the book itself, are too good to let fall down the memory hole. Like this item, from the Sept. 3, 1953 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. Wow, would that would be a lot of fun to bring home from the store in the Toyota.
And here’s that big window, with the blinds sporting a nifty logo.
After the past few months, curbing how much we go out or canceling travel plans or doing whatever we need to do to stay safe, I think all of us have a pretty pronounced case of cabin fever. I know it’s bitten me pretty hard of late. It hasn’t been helped any when I look back on the calendar and remember it was three years ago this week I went to the Mid-Atlantic Nostalgia Convention for the first time. It gets even worse when I remember it was two years ago this week I was there, gave a presentation with my friend Kevin Doherty, met up with some great people I’d befriended the year before (Mitchell, Judie, Carol…I’m looking at y’all). And along the way, what started out as a fairly straightforward trip to Maryland for a conference got altered by a hurricane, and I ended up having the most unexpectedly amazing adventure, beyond anything I could have set out to do.
So with all that going on, and all those memories, it’s awfully tempting to throw my cares to the winds, throw a few things in a bag, get in the car and head for the mountains or something. But that’s not yet a good idea. The day will come when it will be safe to do so again, and it will be Good indeed. But instead, I’ve stayed here, done my work, and I’ve begun the long (but, thankfully, swiftly-moving17) process of taking all those newspaper clippings and extracting the vital information from them. All to bring you, the reader, the most thorough treatment of Dave Garroway’s life and times that I can. Because I care.
And it happens that one item I’ve recently written about in the draft has something to do with throwing cares to the winds, loading up the vehicle and heading out. Only, in Dave’s case, more so.
After he left Today, Dave set out to be the best dad he could be, and he was especially fond of spending time with his youngest child, Dave Jr. In 1965, Garroway told a reporter about something that his son called “Get Lost.” The elder Garroway owned a Chevrolet Greenbrier van, which he enjoyed because the utilitarian vehicle gave him some anonymity, and it also doubled as a handy camper van.18 And sometimes they took advantage of that latter function. The two Daves would load the Greenbrier with a supply of food and other necessities, sometimes pack a Questar telescope, and then get in. Dad would give Junior a map and tell him to get them “as thoroughly lost as possible.” And fun would ensue. “In ten minutes, we really are lost,” Garroway told the reporter.
Dave and Dave Jr. in 1966
Sometimes Dave Jr. would find a road that looked interesting and direct his dad to follow it. Other times, he’d tell his dad to follow a truck or go down a random road. Sometimes Dave Jr. would be so thorough that they couldn’t figure out how to get out; they’d have to backtrack. Decades later, Dave Jr. remembered how they would often end out spending the night out in the countryside, eating soup from cans and looking at stars through the Questar. Sometimes, if it got really late and they couldn’t find a place that looked like a good camping spot, they might check into a motel.
The getaways provided valuable father-son bonding time. And for Garroway, it provided something else. “We spend the weekend in complete anonymity. People go right by your face without recognizing you when you are in a situation that is unexpected.”
Here’s to the day – and let’s hope it’s soon – when we, too, can have getaways of our own, and build new memories. (Just try to remember how to get out of where you end up.)
Throughout his life Dave Garroway was fascinated by just about everything. His hobbies were many, and he tinkered with everything from old cars to telescopes to gem cutting and watchmaking. And as will happen with those of us who are fascinated by what the world has to offer, he was also a collector of odds and ends that represented his fascinations.19
One of his prized items was a Norden bombsight. In many a profile article that mentioned his collection of treasures the Norden would often get a mention. What fascinated Garroway was probably not its military implications, but its mechanical intricacy and precision – plus, as a fine optical device, it had a neat junction with his love of telescopes and similar optical items.
So it was inevitable, I guess, that Garroway would spark some level of demand for the Norden, as evidenced by this clipping from a question-and-answer column in the Feb. 29, 1972 New York Daily News.
Contrary to what the Air Force spokesman told the Daily News, a multitude of Nordens survived the war and eventually found their way into civilian hands after they were declared surplus. Some went to museums, some went into restored or displayed aircraft, and some ended up in the hands of collectors. They turn up for sale every now and then, and there are even a few folks who can restore better-preserved examples to functioning condition.
(Although it’s very likely that mother from 1972 was relieved to get that answer from the Air Force. Can you imagine the havoc a youngster could wreak with a Norden bombsight?)
Dave Garroway had many fascinations in life, and one of them was automobiles. Of all the cars Dave owned, none became more famous than the 1938 Jaguar SS 100 that he owned for three decades. During that time he extensively modified and personalized it, raced it, endlessly tinkered with it, and cherished it…until the day he reluctantly sold it. It’s safe to say you’ll never see another Jaguar like this one…from the bigger engine and bigger headlamps to that eye-popping alligator-hide interior, this car is truly one-of-a-kind.
In the last few decades the Jaguar changed hands a few times, and recently went up for sale again. But even if the asking price is well beyond the means of most of us (I presently drive a Toyota, so the mid-six-figures asking price was beyond my means anyway), the car’s emergence on the market has meant no small amount of the car’s history, and several photographs documenting its modifications, made it on the web – and, thankfully, the car has pretty much been left the way Dave modified it. Have a look for yourself at Dave’s prized Jaguar, and I think you’ll see more than a little of the man himself reflected in there. Let’s hope the present owner – and all its future owners – will keep it that way.
Today’s installment really doesn’t have to do with Dave Garroway. (Well, maybe tangentially, because it does involve RCA and something that NBC once used a lot of, although long after Dave had left the network.) Instead, it’s kind of a love story, an unexpected one. And in the spirit of the season, it’s kind of like my version of Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree: maybe it just needed a little love.
Let’s begin the story with a younger version of me, surfing the web, coming across websites like the one Chuck Pharis has, being green with envy at that kind of camera collection. Or the great collection at Eyes of a Generation. For a long time, I’d wanted a decommissioned television camera of my own. But I had a feeling it would be serious money getting into the hobby. Much as I would dearly love a TK-11/31 or a PC-60 (for my money, the most beautiful camera ever built), I knew from looking around that they were too rich for my blood. Still, a girl can dream, and every few days I’d do a search on eBay just for fun.
Bailey Stortz at his TK-47 on Letterman’s program in the early ’90s. This is how I best remember these cameras.
A couple years ago, a search yielded an RCA TK-47. Now, the TK-47 never really got me excited. I remembered them from Letterman’s later years on NBC, and you’d occasionally catch glimpses of them on Saturday Night Live, but I never cared much for how they looked. They were a little too modern, I guess. The newest RCA camera I really cared for was perhaps a TK-44; maybe it was all those years of watching Johnny Carson when I was a kid, but the -44 spoke of a time just as those beautiful Norelcos epitomized the CBS of my childhood.
And yet…the more I looked, the more that TK-47 tempted me. It had a buy-it-now price of $500. And the manuals were up for sale, too. I dithered and dithered on it. By the time I decided to act, the manuals were available but the camera had disappeared. I bought the manuals and told the seller if he still had the TK-47, I was interested. He replied that he didn’t have that TK-47 any longer, but he did have a second one and some additional components, and told me to call him.
That afternoon I gave him a call, and he told me what he had available. The TK-47 he had was stripped of most of its internals, but would make a fine camera for display. Better still, this one still had its lens and cables. And even better still, the set included the components of the camera chain. He sounded a little reluctant to sell, but the more we talked, the more he warmed up to a deal, and we finally arrived at a number that worked for us both.
A tired TK-47 and matching Fujinon lens on the afternoon they arrived at my home. My feelings were an amazing combination of “I can’t believe I own a studio camera!” and “How am I going to do this?”
A week or so later, a series of large boxes showed up at the office. One was particularly large, too large to fit in my car, so a co-worker and I ripped it open. Inside was the blue-and-cream body of the TK-47, which barely fit in my car’s little trunk. Somehow, I got it all home: the control units, the lens, the setup console. The only item that didn’t come in the deal was the camera computer, which was too heavy to ship (about 90 pounds), so I’d agreed to let that one go since I knew where to find another one closer to home. The zoom and focus controllers, I hunted down from another source (and I’m fortunate to have found them, since I don’t think I’ve seen another set since).
My little helper inspecting the restoration.
The poor TK-47 had seen better days; it had years of dust and a little dirt on it, and for a time I thought about stripping and repainting it. But as I started to clean it up and applied some polish to some stubborn spots, I saw it was worth keeping as it was. Besides, those little scrapes and dings were part of this camera’s story. And, about that story…
The seller had sent some pictures before we closed the deal, and on the lens I noted an intriguing detail. Seems the lens had a property tag for KCET-TV. When I opened the camera body, I found another KCET-TV property tag. If that call doesn’t ring a bell, let me do a little explaining.
It’s a ratty picture, a screengrab from an old RCA publication, but I’m pretty sure that’s my TK-47 on the set of “Cosmos.”
Back in the day, KCET-TV was the PBS affiliate for Los Angeles (it’s since gone independent). And in the late ’70s, KCET replaced its TK-44s with new TK-47s. And the new capabilities of the TK-47 – the only RCA studio camera to win an Emmy – would aid in the production of a new series that was in the works. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. Much of the series would be shot on location using film, but the in-studio segments, notably the famous “Spaceship of the Imagination” sequences, were shot with TK-47s. Which meant…yep, this camera met Dr. Carl Sagan.
The more I thought about the property tags, the more I knew what I had to do.
My original plan for the camera was to put it in NBC markings, as a tribute to all the late nights I spent watching Letterman or staying up for SNL. But the more I got into the KCET story, the more I knew what I had to do. A conversation with Bobby Ellerbee convinced me it was the right thing to do. So I did.
As you’ll notice in the restoration photos, the original jeweled finish on the handle recesses was long gone, probably stripped off when the KCET logos were removed. I searched as best I could for something that could replicate the finish. Nothing quite matched it, but I did find some self-adhesive vinyl that was almost the same. I cut some sheets of plastic in the shape of the insets, applied the wrap to the plastic, and stuck them in place with archival-grade adhesive dots. If I ever need to remove them, it’s as easy as just peeling them off. The KCET markings were drawn in Adobe Illustrator and laser-printed on clear decal film. (I still need to have some “4” decals cut for the top of the camera below the tally light, but that will come in time.)
All cleaned up and reassembled and looking almost as good as new, with new KCET logos in the right places. Temporarily bolted atop a Vinten Radamec plate so it won’t topple over.
To be completely accurate this camera should be atop a Vinten Fulmar pedestal. Unfortunately, those cost a lot more than I can afford. A month or so before I got this camera, I’d happened across an inexpensive ITE pedestal and head for sale in Virginia (and the story of how I got *that* beast home is one I’ll have to tell someday…it involves an overnight trip, a rented van, a Tina Fey audiobook and a front-end loader. Seriously). It was all I had, so I used the TK-47 with this pedestal. To my knowledge KCET didn’t use this setup, but I have seen photos of TK-47s atop this very pedestal (including pictures from CNN’s earliest days), so it’s allowable. The head was missing its handles, so I had to buy some aluminum stock and my father and I formed them into passable handles one afternoon. (Isn’t it sweet, that kind of father-daughter bonding over metalwork?) The rubber grips were from a medical supply house, intended for canes and walkers, but they worked fine here.
A very happy TK-47 back in its natural environment.
After a few months it was time for the completed project to make its debut. I wasn’t going to park it in our living room, though; our cats would find it a plaything, and aside from that it would be weird having a studio camera in our little den. Nope, this belonged in my office. I rented a truck one afternoon and brought it all in, and put everything together at last. I hung a spare Clear-Com box and a retired headset on the side of the camera. And, like Charlie Brown’s little tree, all it had needed was a little love. That camera, all cleaned up and back on a pedestal, looked happy. A few days later, we had a special event in our television studio, and I wheeled out my TK-47 alongside one of our current studio cameras, and alongside one of the new HD cameras we were switching to. It was quite the exhibit.
That TK-47 now lives in my office. I still wheel it over to our seminar room sometimes if we have guests in, or on special occasions I’ll take it down to the studio and put it on display. It’s not quite complete; I’d love to find an original-equipment lens hood, a shade for the viewfinder, and a shot box to hang on the side, and I still want to get an equipment rack to mount the control room side of the chain. It’ll never function again as it originally did, but even as a static display it tells a great story.
And don’t tell anybody this, but most days I give that camera a hug. It’s my baby, and I’m proud of it.
I hadn’t planned on an e-reader version of the book, but some things came together to make it possible. The file has now been uploaded and 
