THE CRAZY QUILT DRAGON - Cinnamon Bear

I want to share with you one of my fondest memories. Something from the late '40s and early '50s. As the leaves turned color, the rains turned cold and almost a month after Halloween. As evening darkness crept closer to my walk home from school and with Thanksgiving not far away, I knew we would go into town the following day to see the "Fairytale Parade.". Then that afternoon I would listen to what my cousin and I called “Crazy Quilt Dragon.”  And every afternoon thereafter until Christmas Eve we would be by the radio at 4:15 listening as Judy and Jimmy chased the “Crazy Quilt Dragon” trying to recover the silver star for their Christmas tree.

In later years I discovered the real title of the program was and still is “The Cinnamon Bear.” Listening to it now it may sound a bit corny to your post-modern ear, but I should remind us all, that it is from a more innocent era. From a time when we didn’t lock our doors at night. A time when “please” and “thank you” came naturally to all. When leaving the evening table you would asked to be excused and thanked your mother for the meal before you stood up.

And a time when imagination was the best screen with no need for a test pattern. As one writer put it, " 'The Cinnamon Bear' is, arguably, the best holiday series ever developed for radio. Containing all of the elements of a classic children's fantasy, combined with radio's unique ability to create vivid mental images in the minds of its listeners, it continues to delight both young and old."

I offer it now to all my family and friends. The Cinnamon Bear. But better known to me as…
The Crazy Quilt Dragon.

Episode One: Surprised by the Cinnamon Bear
In their attic while looking for Christmas decorations, the Barton twins Judy and Jimmy meet the Cinnamon Bear. They learn that the Crazy Quilt dragon has stolen their tree-topper, a gleaming silver star. Paddy O'Cinnamon ("The Cinnamon Bear") invites them to go after Crazy Quilt. First broadcast Friday, November 26, 1937 

(Click to play)

THE CRAZY QUILT DRAGON - Introduction

I did the recording in November 2013, so the mention of the anniversary of the radio broadcast is a couple years off. Unfortunately, due to technical difficulties, it was not changed. Still, I invite you to come back this afternoon at 4:15 for the first episode of the "Crazy Quilt Dragon."

I GIVE YOU RADIO...

I like to tell my grandkids that I was born and started school in the first half of the last century. That was a time when telephones still had cords. Long distance calls - even down the valley or across the state - required the assistance of an operator reached dialing 'O'. The first telephone number I memorized had five digits. And if you found yourself away from home and wanted to call someone, you needed to find a pay phone. And you know, I can't remember the last time I saw one. I'm told they still exist.

It was also a time when television programming didn't start until mid-afternoon and went off the air - yeah, we had antennas - no later than midnight and much more often before that. The picture was a grainy black and white blur. The tubes - yes, tubes - took a couple of minutes to warm up. And, of course, the set would be turned on before programming started so that the picture could be adjusted using the tuning knobs - brightness, contrast, vertical, and horizontal hold. If you didn't a roof antenna, you'd have to move the "rabbit ears" in an attempt to get rid of the shadows. It seemed like everyone's "rabbit ears" had been improved by the addition of foil flags.

That is, of course, assuming your family had a television set. Mine didn't until I was in junior high school. But the McNaughtons did. They owned "McNaughton's TV & Appliance - Sales & Service." It's very likely they owned the only set on our street. And it was a long street. Proudly their oldest son, Bobby, would talk about Buffalo Bob and Clarabelle Clown and Howdy Doody and... I just wondered if I'd ever see them.

The opportunity came one damp autumn afternoon. I had been invited to attend the next afternoon's telecast. So not wanting to offend, I went a few minutes early. But mostly in order not to miss any of the show. We sat cross-legged inches away from the set and stared at the the test pattern - an Indian head in the center of the screen surrounded by a Maltese cross as well as vertical and horizontal gray scales. No sound. Just the test pattern. We sat silently as the anticipation grew. Eyes firmly affixed on the screen. Not willing to miss anything that was about to transpire only minutes away. The hall clock hollowly ticking off the minutes. The swing of the pendulum less mesmerizing than the hiss of the television speaker. Then it happened. Music. And then someone speaking. Suddenly there was movement. It was really happening! I was watching television! And I didn't blink for half an hour. On my way home - two houses up and through the block - I realized that my eyes felt as if they were sunburned. I was no longer sure that I was cut out for such an arduous life-style. That was only half an hour. What would happen if I exposed my eyes to several hours a week. I consulted with my mother who felt that it was perhaps better that I not be subjected to that much radiation. And so ended my initial and brief viewing experience.

But I still had radio. And it was there all the time. Television had one channel. Radio had lots of stations. And our house had several sets. I could come home from school and choose from - what seemed at the time - a great multitude of programs. And, of course, I had my favorites.

I loved radio for the same reason I love books. Words are magic carpets with the ability to transport the reader to places limited only by the imagination. Now with this next remark I realize I'm exposing myself to the possibility of serious criticism. A book that I love and is subsequently made into a movie - I will never see it. I don't care how it is extolled by Ebert or Medved or Reed or Shalit or any other great critical mind. I know the characters. I have met them in my mind. I know them. I know who they are and what they look like. I don't want the people those casting directors think they are, intruding and crowding out my guys. In this regard, I'm like Arthur Conan Doyle's character, Sherlock Holmes. There's only so much space in this attic I call my brain. I don't want my beautiful loft used to store junk. That may be a bit harsh, but you get the idea. 

Want to meet some new characters or renew old acquaintances? Then... 

...close your eyes and come fly away...