The Radio Generation, Page 1 Of 2 Poem by John Bliven Morin

Sometimes I weep for my childhood;
For the days so long, long ago,
When the world was new
And I listened to
Those great shows on the radio.

Crime shows and quiz shows and dramas,
And Mother's dear soap operas daily;
World Series and ball games
And Hollywood tall names;
General Sarnoff and William S. Paley.

I'm of that lost generation.
Growing up during World War Two,
When evil ones ran
When they heard Superman,
And they knew that The Shadow knew.

At night, with the tales of The Whistler;
Of terror and murder and gore,
We would quake with fear
Whenever we'd hear
Inner Sanctum's creaking old door.

We'd laugh with Charlie McCarthy,
Jack Benny and Red Skelton too,
And when Judy Canova
Sang like a great plover
Or Joan Davis got in a stew.

The Whiz Kids, knew all of the answers,
Great Gildersleeve had a guffaw;
Molly made no deposit
In Fibber's full closet
And Joe Friday laid down the law.

Jack Armstrong, he was All American,
Henry Aldrich wished he was, too;
Both wanted the duty
Of A Date with Judy;
Can You Top This? told jokes that weren't blue.