Charles Osgood: A Journey Through 1942, A Boy’s Love for Baseball, Radio, and the World at War
In the year 1942, I, a nine-year-old boy, found solace in the enchanting world of baseball, radio, and the captivating universe beyond my hometown, Baltimore. Despite the ominous backdrop of a world at war, the rationing, air raid drills, and victory gardens painted a romantic picture for a young dreamer like me.
My vivid memories transport me back to that blissful time – a time when a simple game of baseball or the crackling sounds of the radio held immeasurable joy. January 2, just days before my ninth birthday, marked a somber moment as the Japanese took Manila, compelling me to reluctantly pin a tiny Japanese flag on my bedroom wall. The redemption would come on June 4, the day of America’s triumph in the Battle of Midway, allowing me to proudly replace it with an American flag.
Ah, baseball! The Orioles of 1942 were not the formidable team we know today. They struggled in the AAA league, occasionally playing AA ball. Yet, my love for them remained unwavering, especially during those cherished moments when my father took me to the ballpark to witness the games.
Baltimore in 1942 was a quaint city with white wooden houses boasting grand porches and the iconic Bromo Seltzer Tower. A 40-foot-tall Bromo Seltzer bottle adorned the tower, giving Baltimore a unique charm. In a city where a college boy might rendezvous under the Biltmore Clock, in Baltimore, it was under the fizz of the Bromo Seltzer Tower.
The rhythm of life in 1942 was marked by the delivery of milk in bottles, twice-a-day mail service, and my own paper route as young Charlie Wood. The accuracy demanded in newspaper delivery taught me early lessons in precision – avoiding bushes and roofs while tossing newspapers.
My closest childhood companion was an unexpected one – my slightly younger sister, Mary Ann. She shared my passion for the Orioles, followed the events of the war, and cherished radio as much as I did.
On a misty April day, reminiscent of my boyhood, Mary Ann and I revisited our old home on Edgewood Road, reliving the simple joys of our past.
For me, radio was a magical window to a world more fantastic and vibrant than the everyday life unfolding in Baltimore. The Lone Ranger, Edgar Bergen, and the mysterious Shadow, unseen but vivid in my imagination – these were the voices that shaped my childhood. The American radio of the 1940s left an indelible mark on me, steering me towards my current path instead of a more melodic career playing the organ at a skating rink. The dream of becoming a shortstop for the Orioles lingered, though my fear of ground balls made it a somewhat impractical aspiration.
The golden days of radio were accompanied by entertaining commercials that became part of the experience. Mary Ann and I fondly recalled jingles like:
“If you want a peppy pup, then you better hurry up; buy Thrivo for himmmmm.”
While pursuing piano lessons at the Peabody Institute, an esteemed institution in Baltimore, I received an unexpected surprise from Director Robert Sirota – my report card, affirming my satisfactory progress. The song “The Happy Farmer” played at my recital remains etched in my memory, a performance almost missed when they momentarily forgot to call my name.
Evenings at the house on Edgewood Road were a harmonious affair as our family gathered around the piano, singing our favorite tunes. In those dimly lit moments, with shades drawn, we momentarily escaped the harsh realities of war, immersing ourselves in the joyous embrace of family and music. The year 1942, with its challenges and triumphs, left an indelible mark on a nine-year-old boy, shaping the person I am today.
This article was originally posted on CBS News.