This week I set up the twelfth desktop personal computer for my use at home over the past 42 years. A new machine typically offers improvements in processing power, RAM, and storage size, and that is certainly true for my new Mac Mini M4 Pro, which replaced a Mac Mini M1 I purchased back in 2020 and had briefly experimented with when I was unable to travel due to the COVID-19 pandemic.
I didn’t actually use the M1 as my primary desktop machine until April 2024. Before that, I had used computers running Windows as my primary home platform for 30 years, and I had used MS-DOS machines for a decade before that.
A Mac Mini M4 atop a Mac Mini M1
My first computers were Color Computers I bought from Radio Shack in high school that used one of the most advanced of the various 8-bit microprocessors: the Motorola 6809E.
In college, I spent an amazing amount of money on an advanced Tandy Model 2000, which used the oddball 16-bit 80186 microprocessor and had much sharper graphics than the IBM PCs of that time. However, it wasn’t long until full compatibility with IBM PCs became a priority, and the Tandy 2000 was only semi-compatible. WordPerfect 4.2 worked fine for word processing, but I had to invest in a specific version of Lotus Symphony, as the IBM PC version of the Lotus 1-2-3 spreadsheet software was incompatible. So as I graduated from college in 1988, I invested in a PC clone with a 32-bit 80386DX microprocessor.
The only time I bought a desktop machine that was slower with less memory and storage than its predecessor was in 1989, when a friend and I bought a cheap desktop machine to run a bulletin board system (BBS) in Oklahoma City, which I soon transplanted to Bartlesville. That one used an NEC V20 microprocessor, which was a clone of the 16-bit 8088.
In Star Trek, M4 was a robot butler, housekeeper, gardener, and guardian for Flint, while the M-4 multitronic unit was an unseen failed computer designed by Dr. Richard Daystrom
I had a couple of other 32-bit machines after that, with a Pentium 4 being my first computer with a 64-bit microprocessor back in 2004. Twenty years later, my new computer’s processor cores still process data and instructions in 64-bit chunks, and the clock speed of my 2004 single-core machine was 3.7 gigahertz, not that much slower than the 4.5 gigahertz for my latest computer.
As heat generation and power consumption limited how much chip makers could boost clock speed, they started adding more computing cores and software incorporated multithreading to divide workloads across multiple cores working in parallel. Thus, instead of a single core like in 2004, my latest machine’s microprocessor has 12 cores plus a 16-core graphics processing unit and 16-core Neural Engine to speed up machine learning models.
That allows my 2024 M4 Pro to score 86 times higher on CPU Mark than my 2004 Pentium 4 computer. The chart shows how computational power has improved for me at home over the past 20 years.
Apple says that my new M4 Pro has up to 1.8x faster CPU performance and 2.2x faster GPU performance than my M1 Mac Mini of 2020, and I’ve configured it with quadruple the amount of RAM and about triple the available non-backup storage. Those specs should meet my needs for many years. Nevertheless, the M1 is no slouch, and I’m hanging onto it as a fallback machine should the M4 ever go down for awhile.
I couldn’t resist calculating some comparisons of my new desktop to my first computer over 40 years ago. My new desktop has 1.5 million times as much RAM, and immediate access to over 15 million times more storage. The M4’s internal 1 TB drive writes at about 6,300 MB/s and reads at about 5,100 MB/s, while the external 4 TB drive reads and writes at about 3,400 MB/s. Both are multiple times faster than the M1’s internal and external drives, and their data transfer rates are 100,000 to 200,000 times faster than the 156-kilobyte 5.25″ floppy disk drives on my first TRS-80 desktop computer.
Of course, all of that progress came at some fiscal cost. Below I’ve charted the inflation-adjusted costs for my systems. (I don’t have the costs for the BBS system my friend and I purchased in 1989, so I’ve omitted it.)
My first 16-bit computer, the Tandy Model 2000 in 1985, was the most expensive system with my first Dell computer, a Pentium 4 in 2000, coming in close behind. I spent more on my latest system than I’ve spent on one since 2004, but it is still considerably below the average and the median costs over my past 42 years of buying home computer systems. Its power and capacity make it a bargain if I take the long view.
The new system will certainly suffice for the projects I have in mind for my last 18 months of gainful employment and the first years of my retirement. I consider myself quite lucky to have used personal computers since I was ten years old and to have owned them since I was fifteen. They were of immense benefit to my higher education and working life.
My grade school years were low-tech, and I certainly didn’t suffer with the issues that have led to recent recommendations that children not be given smartphones or allowed to use social media until they are 16: I didn’t have a cell phone until I was in my 30s, and I didn’t have a smartphone until I was in my 40s. That means I recognize the amazing benefits of the various technologies and services while knowing how to survive without them. That’s a sweet spot I can appreciate.
In my previous post, I outlined the history of phone numbers in Bartlesville, which became my home in 1989. This post looks at my personal telephone memories from the late 1960s to present.
Bell Telephone, including the Southwestern Bell subsidiary serving Oklahoma City, had abandoned using exchange names in telephone numbers in 1968, before I could form lasting memories. So I never learned phone numbers using words. I first noticed old exchange numbers because one had been printed on a vintage yardstick my parents used. Ever curious, I asked my mother about it, and she filled me in.
SKyline-1
We lived in the Western Village neighborhood of northwest Oklahoma City until I graduated from kindergarten in the early 1970s. By the time I was memorizing phone numbers, my parents’ home phone number was no longer referred to as SKyline 1-#### but instead just 751-####.
My memories of telephones when we lived in the Skyline exchange serving our Western Village neighborhood in Oklahoma City are limited to how my father had a separate “company phone” in his den that was tied into Cities Service Gas Company, and that I would yank my Fisher-Price Chatter Telephone into the room and jabber away, pretending I was taking care of important company business.
While I have always had a clear memory of the address of our home in Western Village, I had to look up our old phone number and its exchange.
SUnset-9
Our next stop was in Bethany, a town subsumed within northwestern OKC, while I was in the first through sixth grades. Our phone prefix changed from 751- to 789-, but I didn’t think of it as moving from the SKyline-1 exchange to SUnset-9.
I dimly recall a green rotary kitchen phone and that my parents had their own extension phone in their bedroom. It always took longer to dial the higher digits on a rotary phone, so I knew our number, which consisted entirely of phone numbers between 7 and 0, was something a business would have avoided if at all possible.
My father again had a company phone, which had its own bell installed under an eave in the backyard, ensuring he would hear it outside, since as a company executive he might need to deal with emergencies. It was important that natural gas service be maintained for multiple communities across several states, especially in the winter months.
Eventually, I was entrusted with updating my father’s company phone directory. That was a small binder with pages in different sections with company and staff phone numbers. Every month, updated pages would be provided and my job was to pull out the old ones and insert the new ones. I enjoyed what an adult would have found to be a tedious exercise.
Bell System Type 404A jack and type 283B plug, circa 1960
RJ11 4P4C jack and plug
One other thing I remember about phone technology back then was that the wall plugs were not the modular RJ11 4-position 4-contact plugs of today but instead bulky things with four large prongs.
WIndsor-2
We moved again when I was entering junior high. Our new phone number began with 942-, and I soon realized that corresponded to WIndsor-2, which made sense because our new neighborhood was Windsor Hills. Some of the homes in the neighborhood with older lines were actually 946-, which matched up with WINdsor.
We felt pretty fancy when we upgraded to Princess Touch Tone phones
I associate our move to Windsor Hills with upgrading from rotary phones to Princess push-button ones with the mysterious * and # buttons. Eventually the * button became associated with various Custom Local Area Signaling Services, while the pound button (which some call hash, and the engineers originally called the octotherp) is still often used to indicate the end of a sequence of signals. While my parents paid to rent Princess phones with touchtone signaling, when premium signaling services like call waiting and Caller ID were rolled out, my folks declined.
The buttons lit up on our new phones, which required that each one be connected to an external electric transformer that plugged into a wall power plug, and the phones had a night light mode.
I got an extension phone in my bedroom. Throughout my childhood people would ask me for my favorite color, and I had settled on green, although I didn’t particularly care. So yes, I had a green phone. I found a 1978 photo of me proudly showing off my new phone, and I remember lying on the bed a few years later while on the phone for hours for many nights trying to puzzle through algebra homework with schoolmate Susan Plant.
In 1978 I got my own extension phone. Yes, there was an antique cash register on one side of my bed, and a bean bag chair in one corner of the room. Go figure.
Back then, you weren’t allowed to own your own telephone. You had to rent one from Southwestern Bell, although I noticed that at our vacation cabin in Missouri there was an old rotary phone even though we didn’t have a working phone line there. It had been left behind by the previous owners, and evidently the local phone company wasn’t too worried about it. Maybe it didn’t rent phones.
Long-distance phone calls were rather expensive before AT&T was broken up. I remember my father placing and receiving calls to relatives late at night at home. When we were at our cabin in Missouri, we would drive out to an old phone booth outside a general store some miles down the highway to make calls.
I would later experience that myself, and I remember fumbling with a card late on some cold winter nights at a phone kiosk so I could punch in a ridiculously long sequence of numbers to use a Southwestern Bell calling plan and talk to my girlfriend. I remember the cutting cold wind making me curse that they had taken out the phone booth and replaced it with a kiosk. Superman also found that change frustrating back in 1978.
Eventually my home phone became a Trimline model, but I found the buttons in the handset a mixed blessing.
In the early 1980s, the rental fee was $1.50 to about $5 per month depending on the type of phone. That finally changed in 1983, when the U.S. government broke up Bell Telephone into AT&T and various “Baby Bells” such as Southwestern Bell. Consumers in all parts of the country suddenly had the option to buy their own phone.
Before that, the Western Electric subsidiary of American Telephone & Telegraph was the primary manufacturer of equipment for the Bell System. One of my aunts worked at the big Western Electric plant in Oklahoma City, which made pay telephones and switching equipment.
One of my aunts worked at the big Western Electric plant in OKC making switching equipment
After the breakup
When I was in high school I did have my own phone line. That wasn’t for my privacy or convenience, but for my parents. I had a 300 baud Radio Shack modem with my TRS-80 Color Computer which I used to call electronic bulletin boards and early dialup services like Dow Jones and CompuServe. They didn’t want my long modem sessions to tie up the main house line.
I had the fancy Direct-Connect Model II that connected at a blazing 300 baud (sarcasm)
While living in Oklahoma City and then for a few of my first years in Bartlesville, I operated a computer-based bulletin board system that was part of FidoNet. To avoid any long distance charges, I programmed it with the codes of the telephone exchanges that were local calls, and that was probably the last time I paid much attention to phone exchanges.
Over the years I went through a multitude of modems to connect my personal computers to online services as baud rates increased from 300 baud to 56k. The sound of the connection handshake got longer and longer over time as different standards were implemented.
After the phone monopoly ended, my parents just purchased their existing Princess telephones from Southwestern Bell. When I moved to a dormitory at the University of Oklahoma, I went to the local Radio Shack and spent $100, which would be about $300 in 2024, on a fancy DUōFONE-140.
Initially, I placed that phone on my little built-in desk in the dorm, next to my 13″ Zenith CRT television. But after a month or so, I noticed the television picture had a color shift in one corner. The magnets in the phone were affecting the shadow mask and thus deflecting the electron beams. I had to move the telephone across the room and degauss the TV.
My favorite telephone was this model, but in white rather than black
Fascinated by technology, I later bought a couple of different cassette and later microcassette tape answering machines. I remember entering my different apartments, seeing the blinking red light on the answering machine, and wondering what message I would soon be receiving.
My favorite landline telephone was a Unisonic Model 9335, which had a particularly light, sleek, and comfortable handset and nice controls. I finally gave up on landline phones at home when I went fully cellular in May 2009.
The flip phone I used before getting my first iPhone in 2008
My early cell phones were flip phones and one of the Nokia “chocolate bar” phones, and their lack of full keyboards discouraged me from texting. That eased once I had an iPhone.
My last big involvement with wired telephones was reviewing and approving the purchase of a new internal phone system and handsets for the school district back in 2018. That system uses the Voice over Internet Protocol, not Plain Old Telephone Service. The only traditional landline phones we still have in the district are a single emergency phone in each school office and some lines for elevators.
In less than 20 months, I’ll be retiring. For the first time in my lifetime, after I turn 60 years of age I can expect to seldom interact with a wired telephone. Despite the nostalgia apparent in this post, that is one thing I shall not miss.
What do the song PEnnsylvania 6-5000, the book BUtterfield 8, and the movie Dial M for Murder have in common? All of their titles refer to telephone exchanges. Bartlesville only used exchange names in its phone numbers for about a decade, circa 1958 to 1968.
1907-1908 Bartlesville Directory advertisements with two and three-digit phone numbers
In the early days, there were so few telephone lines in smaller communities that phone numbers were just a few digits. The 1907-1908 Prewitt’s Directory for Bartlesville, Indian Territory, which was printed just before statehood, has phone numbers of two and three digits.
Telephone service in Bartlesville dated back to the late 1800s with an exchange above the Hull Drug Store on the south side of 3rd Street (now Frank Phillips Boulevard) between Johnstone and Dewey Avenues. It opened with three phones, which expanded to seven, and the bell was hooked to the bed of the operator. The first telephone operator was a Ms. Green, and many of the early phones were for doctors.
The Cherokee National Telephone Company established a Bartlesville exchange in 1901. In 1905 the Indian Territory Telephone Company had a copper line stretching from Bartlesville to Tulsa, and that same year the Cherokee National was purchased by Pioneer Telephone and Telegraph.
Bartlesville phone operators in 1906 [Source]Source
As communities grew, phone numbers grew in length to where they would challenge the 4-9 digit short-term memory of a typical human being. So Bell Telephone started using telephone exchange names in locations needing over four digits. Those were memorable names assigned to a central office’s switching system. Usually the first two letters of the name corresponded to prefix digits in a two letters+five numbers format, although various combinations and lengths were in use in different communities.
BUtterfield-8 was a 1935 John O’Hara novel, and then a 1960 movie, in which BU-8, or 288, was the exchange for Manhattan’s well-to-do Upper East Side.
PEnnsylvania 6-5000 indicated 736-5000, which was the phone number for the Hotel Pennsylvania in New York City. Its phone number became the title of a swing jazz and pop standard of the Glenn Miller Orchestra.
As for Dial M for Murder, that was a 1954 Hitchcock film based on a stage play in which a scheming husband dials his home phone MAIda Vale 3499, or 624-3499, to awaken his wife and set in motion an attempted murder.
The rotary dial for a telephone was patented in 1892, with holes in the finger wheel introduced in 1904, but they weren’t common until the 1920s.
Area Codes
The popular culture references I cited all lacked something: an area code. That’s because at the time you didn’t need to dial an area code as part of a local phone number. In fact, Direct Distance Dialing, allowing one to make long-distance calls without the assistance of a human operator, didn’t begin until 1951, slowly expanding from New Jersey to become widespread in the 1960s as the system began to include automatic toll-switching centers, electronic switching systems, and automatic message accounting computers.
I’ve shown a page from the 1955 Bartlesville telephone directory with instructions on how to make a long distance call. You can tell they didn’t have Direct Distance Dialing yet!
Oklahoma Area Codes as of 2021
The 405 area code had been established by AT&T and the Bell System in 1947 and covered the entire state of Oklahoma at that time. In 1953, the 918 code for northeastern Oklahoma was split off from 405. 580 for western and southern Oklahoma was split from 405 in 1997.
Until 2011, 7-digit local dialing was still possible statewide, but then 539 was added as an overlay to the 918 area code rather than doing a split. Having two area codes for the same geographic region forced a change to 10-digit dialing there, and that spread to the 405 area code region in 2021 when 572 was added as an overlay to it.
Pioneer Telephone
Oklahoma had 135 commercial systems and 63 incorporated phone companies at statehood in 1907. By 1912, Pioneer Telephone and Telegraph Company had 115 exchanges in Oklahoma, with 114,975 miles of aerial wire and 19,480 miles of underground wire.
I magnified one of the blue bells on the Pioneer building in downtown Bartlesville
The Pioneer Telephone Building still stands in downtown Bartlesville on the west side of Dewey Avenue north of 4th Street, with its distinctive blue bells on the pilasters. It was an early fireproof building in the city, erected just a couple of years before Southwestern Bell was formed in 1912 as a consolidation of the Southwestern Telephone Company of Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas with the Pioneer Telephone and Telegraph Company, the Missouri and Kansas Telephone Company, and the Bell Telephone Company of Missouri.
A few miles north was the small telephone office in Dewey. At one time, calling from Bartlesville to Dewey was a long distance call, something we struggle to imagine these days.
Back in 1954, Southwestern Bell had an open house at its Bartlesville office, inviting residents to come see the equipment in action, see a machine that “plays tick-tack-toe and never loses a game”, and see a demonstration microwave relay in which they could break the beam transmitting music with their hand and reflect it with a metal mirror.
I used to do a related demonstration when I taught Advanced Placement physics night lectures at Bartlesville High School. Instead of using a microwave transmitter and receiver, I would modulate a laser beam with the audio signal from my iPod or iPhone and aim it at a solar panel connected to an amplified speaker.
Before FEderal-6 and EDison-3
Back in the mid-1950s, Bartlesville did not yet use exchange names in its phone numbers, but it did have some numbers with party line suffixes. The 1955 city telephone directory is filled not only with three and four-digit numbers, but also four-digit numbers followed by the letter suffixes J, M, R, or W. Those indicate party lines, where multiple households shared a number. The suffix letters they used had been chosen to not be easily misheard when spoken.
1955 City Telephone Directory listings in Bartlesville, Oklahoma
Some dials back in the day lacked most of the letters, but still sported the letters needed to help you complete a party line call.
The concept of the party line was instrumental to the plot of another popular entertainment, the 1959 movie Pillow Talk, with Doris Day and Rock Hudson unhappily sharing a line.
Other phone number schemes were also in use. The same 1955 phone directory has two-digit numbers in Copan mixed in with longer sequences like 814-F-11 and 810-F-31.
Copan phone numbers in 1955
Dewey phone numbers in 1955 did use the exchange name system. They were all KE 4-#### or KEllogg-4 numbers.
Dewey phone numbers in 1955
A new building briefly brought FEderal-6 and EDison-3 to town
In 1957, Southwestern Bell constructed a $3 million Bartlesville office on the southwest corner of Dewey Avenue and 6th Street (now Silas Street). It was two stories with a basement, built such that a third floor could be added.
The ground floor had the big crossbar switching system and customer service, while upstairs was the microwave system and mobile phone equipment and operators. The basement had the test room, which could be used to determine if someone added an extra line without paying for it.
The microwave relay atop the Bartlesville phone building in 1968
That new facility also brought the use of seven-digit numbers with exchange names. Bartlesville started having FEderal-6 numbers associated with the west side of the Caney River and EDison-3 numbers on the rapidly expanding east side.
Witness the mix of FEderal, EDison, and Dewey KEllogg exchanges in a yellow pages listing for Cities Service gas stations in 1959.
Gas station listings in 1959 with phone exchanges
The use of phone exchange names in phone listings began to be phased out in the 1960s, so FEderal and EDison didn’t last very long in Bartlesville. I was assigned a 335-#### phone number when I moved to town in 1989, so I suppose I could have shared it as EDison5-####, but that would have elicited some stares and confusion.
Back then, the Bell Building next to the old Civic Center was still adorned with a large microwave antenna up top, hidden within a decorative shroud. That provided a wireless link to Tulsa, via a large relay antenna near Ramona, in case the regular lines were cut.
By 1968, 40% of all long-distance telephone traffic in the USA was carried by AT&T’s TD-2 microwave relay network, and it also carried 95% of the country’s inter-city television signals. The development of fiber optic cables and geostationary communications satellites eventually rendered the microwave relays obsolete, and in 1999 AT&T sold off the towers.
Nortel DMS-100 telephone switches were released in 1979 and can control 100,000 lines
They removed the KKB56 microwave antenna from atop our local phone building some years ago, and nowadays far fewer employees work in the building, which the internet indicates is still equipped with Ribbon/Genband/Nortel DMS-100/200 switches but has no public office.
There was a time when you had to dial 1 before a number to signal to the routing system that a call would be going outside the area code. But that is pretty much obsolete in the USA these days, at least when using a cell phone.
Landline Decline
Marshall McLuhan advised: “Obsolescence never meant the end of anything, it’s just the beginning.”
In 2007, I finally cancelled my old-style landline phone, briefly switched to Vonage, and then I went fully cellular in May 2009. So I said goodbye to the old EDison exchange and, since my original cell phone was with U.S. Cellular, joined the 440- exchange. I left U.S. Cellular a few years later, when I purchase my first iPhone, as AT&T was the only carrier for the iPhone at the time. But number portability meant I was able to remain with my old number in the 440- exchange. When my wife bought her first iPhone years later, it was through AT&T and that put her in the 766- exchange along with other new AT&T accounts. Thankfully our marriage has survived our being in different telephone exchanges, something that would have been more challenging in the old landline days.
When I gave up my landline, only about 1 in 5 adult Americans had only cell phones. That has increased to well over 70% in 2024.
So most homes no longer have landline telephones. When I was young we would receive an immense phone book each year in Oklahoma City. My mother would keep it on one of the seats at the dinner table to boost me up so that I could eat more comfortably. In the 1970s, it expanded into two separate books, each several inches thick, one with white paper phone listings and another with yellow pages of business listings and advertisements. When I moved to Bartlesville, the thinness of the local telephone book was only one of several lifestyle changes. The latest phone book was left beside our mailbox the other day, and it sure seems like a relic.
But time marches on, and now when we “reach out and touch someone”, most of us do that wirelessly and give little thought to an old meaning for “exchange”. In 2024, AT&T announced that by 2029 it would abandon landline service across 20 states, including Oklahoma.
Over 2,000 years ago, someone sculpted a full-length lifesize bronze statue of a man on the Greek island of Delos. Such works cost about 3,000 drachmas — the equivalent of two years’ salary for a rich citizen.
Only about 200 of tens of thousands of such bronze sculptures crafted by Hellenistic artisans survive. Centuries of tarnish have given them dark mottled finishes, but when first minted they would have approximated the color of a tan Greek, with eyes of glass and colored stone, fringed with delicate bronze eyelashes.
Most of the sculptures have lost their lifelike eyes in their struggle against time, buried in sand or sea or ash. Yet this gaze endured.
In 1912 this head was unearthed at the Granite Palaistra, a training ground for athletes. It likely belonged to an honorific statue of a citizen, and antiquities experts say his expression was likely meant to portray civic devotion.
“The face is showing what he’s being honored for — the zeal, attention, care, and energy he’s expended on behalf of his fellow citizens,” shared Jens M. Daehner, a curator at the Getty Museum.
Nevertheless, we know him as the worried man of Delos.
Delos is a tiny island, only a bit over one square mile in area, that was a cult center for the gods Dionysus and Leto. A Greek saying was “ᾌδεις ὥσπερ εἰς Δῆλον πλέων” meaning “you sing as if sailing into Delos” when someone was in a happy and light-hearted state.
But it is never that simple, is it?
When this statue was sculpted in the 100s BCE, the Romans had converted Delos into a free port, and it had become the center of the slave trade. Roman traders went there to purchase tens of thousands of slaves captured by Cilician pirates or abducted in the wars following the destruction of the Seleucid Empire.
It wasn’t long before trade routes changed, and Delos entered a sharp decline before the end of the first century BCE. It was attacked and looted by Mithridates, the King of Pontus, in 88 BCE and again by pirates in 69 BCE. By the second century of the Common Era, the traveler and geographer Pausanias noted that Delos was uninhabited save for a few sanctuary custodians, and six centuries later Delos was entirely abandoned.
We cannot know what our worried man was actually thinking or feeling amidst a prosperous time, but his expression mirrors my own at this point in the evolution of the constitutional republic I was fortunate enough to be born into.
He lived in the time of the Roman Republic, which began with the overthrow of the Roman Kingdom centuries earlier. That Republic was in a state of near-perpetual war, and in its last century was torn by civil strife, attributed by the ancients to moral decay from wealth and the hubris of Rome’s domination of the Mediterranean.
Modern sources cite its destruction to wealth inequality and a growing willingness by aristocrats to transgress political norms. Sound familiar?
Of course the Roman Republic later fell, to be replaced by an authoritarian Empire. That brought 200 years of relative order, economic prosperity, and stability, at the price of near-absolute rule by a series of emperors.
The last of Rome’s “Five Good Emperors”, Marcus Aurelius, wrote in his personal journal: “Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.”
I am armed by reason, comforted by experience, and counseled by patience. Yet my gaze is pensive.
A year ago, Wendy and I watched a movie in a cinema together for the first time in over 4.5 years. The COVID-19 pandemic was part of the reason for our absence from the multiplexes, but another year has passed, and we haven’t returned to a cinema.
Back in the 1950s, Hollywood started competing with television for audiences and revenue. That led to gimmicks like 3-D movies and wider aspect ratios, offering audiences something they couldn’t readily obtain on their home televisions.
So did we just switch to watching TV? Well, no. Wendy and I don’t watch any television shows. Instead, we stream niche videos on our respective iPads. As for movies, I’ve been logging our movie watching on Letterboxd, which shows that we have watched an average of seven movies annually over the past four years. The chart shows when those movies were first released:
The decades in which the movies we watched from November 2020 to October 2024 were released
Yes, the preponderance of films from the 1940s means that over half of the movies we watched in the past four years were in monochrome, and many were in the academy screen ratio. So I guess technical innovations aren’t much of a draw for us!
The pandemic dealt a mighty blow to box office revenues and ticket sales, with the later making only a fractional recovery, plateauing in 2022 and 2023 at less than 2/3 of the average in the 2010s. So the future of movies is cloudy, and that prompts me to take a look back at some of my cinematic experiences.
Before My Time
My father was of the Greatest Generation, and as a kid he would go to the “picture show” on Saturday afternoons and pay a dime for a cartoon, a newsreel, a feature film, and an episode of a continuing serial. He continued to see movies in cinemas while serving in the army in World War II, but 20 years later, when I came along, he rarely went to a cinema.
The movie my parents saw on their first date
My mother is of the Silent Generation, and her strict Pentecostal father did not allow his children to attend movies or even watch films presented at school. He died too early for me to remember him, but I clearly recall how my maternal grandmother had no television and would only tolerate news and weather reports on a radio and nothing more. When I was seven and stayed with her for a week one summer, I asked her about that. She replied that the devil was the “prince of the power of the air” and thus television and radio entertainments were not to be trusted.
However, my mother did allow my father to take her to a movie for their first date. They saw The World of Suzie Wong, a film about an American painter in Hong Kong who falls in love with prostitute he hires as a model. No doubt my maternal grandparents would have been horrified. Years later, when I was around, my parents did not frequent cinemas; we instead watched television at home.
General Audiences
When I was a kid, movies were rated G, M, R, or X. M was renamed GP and then PG, which finally stuck, but the added PG-13 rating didn’t come along until 1984 when I went to college, and X eventually became NC-17.
Until I could drive, what few movies I saw in cinemas were mostly G-rated Disney re-releases such as Pinocchioin 1971, Dumbo and Lady and the Tramp in 1972, and so forth. I recall getting to see Bedknobs and Broomsticks when it was first released in 1971, and having a picture book of Doctor Dolittle, although I never saw the film.
Parental Guidance Suggested
So I was taken aback when a friend took me to see my first PG film, The Bad News Bears, in 1976. The film features an alcoholic baseball coach of young foul-mouthed players. I remember sinking into my seat at the “N” word being used. I was still nine years old and found kids cursing like that quite shocking. Needless to say, my parents had not seen the trailer. When my mother asked me about the movie when I came home, her usually loquacious son became quite taciturn. For context, in my entire lifetime I have only heard my parents curse one time each: I knew what was and was not acceptable in our family.
A month of so after my first PG film, I was invited to go to another movie with a friend. It seemed safe enough: the G-rated Hawmps! slapstick film at the MacArthur Park cinema, which was a 4-screen theater built in 1971. However, in the adjacent theater was the PG war film Midway. That wouldn’t have been an issue except that the MacArthur Park cinema had gone to the expense of installing banks of low-frequency subwoofers in one theater. Only five films were ever released to take advantage of its ability to vibrate viewers’ innards…and Midway was one of them.
Stuck between Midway and Hawmps! when I was 9
So I was sitting there, suffering through the stupidity of Hawmps!, when suddenly the wall near me began to vibrate, and I could clearly hear explosions and curse words. Midway featured about five dozen instances of profanity, and I heard quite a few of them. Let’s say I was left shell-shocked.
The next film I remember seeing in a cinema was Superman over winter break in 1978. The movie was fun, if corny, and I remember thinking that the opening title sequence looked impressive but took way too long, something my 7th grade math teacher also complained about when we returned to school in January 1979.
A film I saw in 1979 happened to be the last of the five films released in Sensurround: Saga of a Star World, which was just the pilot of the Battlestar Galactica television show. So I saw pretty much what I had already seen on television, just bigger and LOUDER. You haven’t really experienced Lorne Green’s stentorian delivery until you have heard it in Sensurround. Like Superman, that film was rated PG, but they were both pretty mild.
Overtures
Over the next winter break, I convinced my mother to take me to see Star Trek: The Motion Picture at the Westpark Twin. I remember being surprised that the film began with a three-minute overture played against a black screen.
Soon thereafter I saw The Black Hole in a cinema, and it too had an overture. Movie overtures were popular in Hollywood musicals of the 1950s and 1960s and part of the old roadshow tradition. Robert Wise, who directed Star Trek: The Motion Picture, also directed the famous musicals West Side Story and The Sound of Music, which may explain it having an overture, but the two science fiction films I happened to see in cinemas in 1979 were the last to feature overtures for many years.
Star Trek: The Motion Picture was one of the last movies to feature an overture
Overtures were a vestige of the old roadshow theatrical releases where films were opened in a limited number of theaters with presentations that mimicked live theatre. There were no short subjects and few, if any, promotional trailers. Screenings were limited to one or two a day, sold with reserved seating and souvenir programs, and included an overture and an intermission between the two “acts” of the film, with the first act usually longer than the second. The heyday of the roadshow releases were the 1950s and 1960s, and they were gone by 1973.
Klingon ship in the TV showStar Trek: The Motion Picture
Seeing Star Trek: The Motion Picture in the cinema was an odd experience after years of watching television reruns that relied on old 16 mm prints. I was impressed with the opening sequence with three Klingon ships and the dramatically different appearance of the Klingons themselves. The special effects by John Dykstra and the make-up blew away what I had seen in the television show. I glanced over at my mother to see how she was reacting, and she was already sound asleep! The overture served as her lullaby.
Date Movies
Movie buffs who are science fiction fans might have noticed that I failed to mention the blockbuster Star Wars of 1977. While I had a few friends in sixth grade who saw it and were crazy about it, I just wasn’t interested. I loved Star Trek on television but regarded Star Wars with its robots and laser swords — er, droids and lightsabers — as rather childish.
I was surprised at how rude the kids in E.T. were to their single mother
One of the inspirations for Star Wars was old movie serials, and I was put off by what I’d seen of Flash Gordon and reruns of the old Commando Cody serials on the HOHO and Pokey show on television, so I opted out. I remember staring in disbelief at my friends as they jabbered on about “Artoo-Deetoo” and “See-Threepio” and the like. After years of thrusting my Star Trek obsession upon others, the tables had been turned!
I actually didn’t see any of the Star Wars films until I was dating in high school, and I actually saw the third one first. But a few months before that, the first movie I remember taking a girl to on a date was E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. I was still so sheltered that I was taken aback by how rude and disrespectful the kids in that movie were to their single mother.
A few months later, we saw Return of the Jedi at the Westwood Theater. Having missed the first two films, I was baffled by some of it. My girlfriend helpfully whispered occasional guidance to me, as I had little understanding of Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Han Solo, Yoda, and the rest. I was reminded of that experience at our cinematic outing last year, watching The Marvels with Wendy without having seen any Marvel movies or television shows since Avengers: Endgame over 4.5 years earlier.
Restricted Shows
The first R-rated movie I recall seeing was when some high school friends rented the slasher film My Bloody Valentine. I’d already seen Psycho on late night television, so I thought I was prepared, but I found the slasher film made two decades later rather sickening, even with nine minutes of its violence and gore cut by the Motion Picture Association of America.
When I turned 17, one of the first R-rated motion pictures I saw in a cinema was Silkwood, which lured me in not for its rating but because it was a factual story about a whistle-blower in Oklahoma. The next year I saw another R-rated film in a cinema, Amadeus, which is still one of my favorite films. But after that I saw far more movies on videotape than at a cinema.
There aren’t very many shots of Mathilda May in Lifeforce that I can share in my blog
The first truly raunchy film I saw in a cinema was Lifeforcein 1985. The nudity was titillating, but I was put off by how some of the film’s plot stole heavily from a better and older horror/scifi film, which had no sex or nudity: Quatermass and the Pit. The other memorable thing about that showing of Lifeforce is that was the only time I saw a sneak preview. When my friend and I purchased our tickets, we were asked if we would agree to see another film first for free and fill out comment cards about it. As college guys not dealing with a curfew, my friend and I agreed. But I remember absolutely nothing about the preview we watched…I suppose Lifeforce was too distracting.
In 1986, I saw David Lynch’s Blue Velvet at a cinema in Norman. My recollection is that two old ladies were in the audience, commenting before the film started that they looked forward to seeing Elizabeth Taylor. Evidently they had confused Blue Velvet with National Velvet, and boy were they in for a surprise! Obviously they hadn’t watched a trailer for the film.
Before the Show
Television ended the era of serials
Movie trailers began in 1913 and back then were shown after, or trailing, the feature film. Later they were mixed into the program shown before a film, alongside cartoon shorts, newsreels, and serials, but the old name stuck.
In the 1940s, many folks went to a theater weekly. But as television viewership expanded in the 1950s, what was on offer at the cinemas had to evolve.
Serials were a series of short subject films exhibited in consecutive order, usually advancing weekly for 12-15 episodes. Universal, Columbia, and Republic Pictures made many of them. Flash Gordon is a famous example, and I had fun a few years back watching Rifftrax mock the 1949 Batman and Robin serial. Serials lasted until 1956, but they were gone a decade before I was born.
Television news also doomed cinema newsreels
Cinema newsreels were also doomed by television, although they persisted about a decade longer. The last American newsreel was released on December 26, 1967. I remember references to newsreels when I was young and being nonplussed since those simply didn’t exist in my world.
Animated cartoon shorts migrated to television as well, with MGM closing its cartoon animation studio in 1958, Warner Brothers giving up in the 1960s, and Walter Lantz closing his studio in 1972.
Trailers, however, survived. If you partake of Trailers from Hell, it becomes obvious that they changed in the early 1960s. Earlier ones showed key scenes, often with large descriptive text and a stentorian narrator. In the 1960s, quick-editing montage trailers became popular.
In the 1960s, many trailers were about two minutes long, with blockbusters getting trailers about twice that duration. The typical trailer was three minutes long in the 1990s, and is now back to two minutes, with cinemas often showing four or five trailers before a feature film.
Trailers have survived
However, at the Regal Warren Broken Arrow in November 2023, Wendy and I endured 18 minutes of trailers. While that alone isn’t too far out of line with the past, the intensity of modern trailers can be exhausting with fast editing, explosions, giving away key moments, and showing off their “money shots”. They usually fail to engage me emotionally, and I often find them tedious.
In the 1990s and 2000s, they would run slides in a cinema before a movie. They were often a mix of still advertising and trivia questions. The trivia and lack of full video kept them from becoming annoying, but I remember when pre-trailer video advertising began in cinemas, blurring the line between a cinematic experience and watching television at home. By 2005, pre-trailer ads were standard, with infomercials and promotions for television shows, video games, and products.
In our return to a cinema, Wendy and I were subjected to 12 minutes of such commercials before the 18 minutes of trailers. Only then could we enjoy the 105-minute movie. Spending 22% of our time at the cinema watching commercials of one sort of another, at a movie matinee costing us $25.66, wasn’t a good experience to us.
My annoyance was magnified by changes in how I have experienced video at home. When I was a kid watching broadcast television, about 15-16% of each hour was consumed by advertising and station breaks. Over time, the amount of time consumed by advertising increased to about 24%, and in 2022 broadcast networks in prime time were reportedly running ads for 20% to 28% of each hour.
But I haven’t watched broadcast or cable television in decades. Instead, I watch lots of YouTube videos on my iPad. I’ve had a YouTube Premium membership since May 2019, so I don’t see ads except for ones embedded by the video creators, which I can readily fast-forward through. So I’m now used to watching esoteric videos with very little advertising. That meant the ads and trailers at the cinema were excruciating for Wendy and me.
Home Video v. Cinema
Looking back, most of my movie-watching has been at home. When I was young, they were provided via broadcast television, with plenty of commercial interruptions. Videocassette players cost $1,000 or more in the 1970s, the equivalent of about $5,000 in 2024. So I didn’t rent home movies until high school and college in the early 1980s, having to rent not only the tape cartridges but also a player. During my early years in college, I remember writing a check for $200 as a deposit on a rented player at the Sound Warehouse in Norman, knowing that check would bounce if they tried to cash it.
Later in the 1980s, I was able to afford a videocassette recorder of my own. By then, there were 15,000 video rental stores across the country. I found one small store in Norman that had a collection of Hitchcock films on VHS, which I would watch back in my apartment on a 19″ Zenith television that lacked a remote control.
However, some of my most memorable college movie experiences were in a cinema of sorts. The film appreciation classes at the University of Oklahoma held public screenings on campus in lecture hall 211 of Dale Hall.
Room 211 of Dale Hall, where I first saw Vertigo
During my freshman year, I saw Citizen Kane and Vertigo there. It was a treat to view such masterworks on a large screen in a room full of undergraduates. I remember the end of Citizen Kane, with a few dummies seated in front of me who were only there because of a class assignment. They decided to beat the crowd by leaving a little bit early. A minute later, what a reaction there was from the audience when Rosebud finally appeared amidst the flames!
Vertigo got a warm reception at the screening at OU in 1984
The screening of Vertigo was even more memorable. It had been unavailable since 1973, and the audience was utterly spellbound despite its slow burn. After the conclusion, with James Stewart framed in the doorway of the bell tower, like a man standing before a huge tombstone looking down into a grave, the entire room remained dead quiet until the members of the audience did something unexpected: a standing ovation.
Over the years, I upgraded my home video from VHS to DVD, HD-DVD, Blu-Ray, and then 4K Ultra HD Blu-Ray. Now Wendy and I can watch a disc, or stream a movie, on our 55″ OLED HDR 4K television with 5.1 surround sound. But the cinema can still offer something our home video setup cannot match.
For years I enjoyed laughing in a crowded Tulsa theater at fun Rifftrax Live movies. I enjoyed that so much that back in 2011, when I was in Kansas City with a bunch of science teachers, I treated them at an AMC cinema to the Rifftrax showing of House on Haunted Hill. And in 2016, after Gene Wilder passed, Wendy and I greatly enjoyed a special revival showing of Blazing Saddles on a big screen in Oklahoma City.
Sharing a great film in a big theater with a large, lively, and appreciative audience is something to treasure which we cannot recreate at home. Perhaps some day Wendy and I will add more experiences like that to our movie memories, but I wouldn’t want to bet on it.