an age of delayed gratification, when I had to wait for almost everything. The mail came once a day, and I recall the thrill of anticipation when expecting my issue of Mad magazine or some fancy item I had ordered from the Johnson Smith novelty company
bout them was a week—
courtesy of TV Gui
de. And, of course, one had to be home at the appointed time to watch them. The Wizard of Oz, for example, was broadcast only once a year, an interval seemingly set in stone, and the steadily heightening sense of anticipation as the broadcast date approac
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