In the Spotlight

Caught at the door by late afternoon winter sun, I cast a perfect Dick-Tracy-silhouette on the door.

And then for no reason I can identify, I remembered Saturday evenings with my family watching The Hit Parade.

Looking now at one show from 1956, I recoil from the sexism and cigarette ads, but rejoice in the timely humor, Broadway production style, live performances, and general good fun. A far cry from today's "star-making singing shows," perhaps, but honestly, I don't miss the snark.

And now, so long for a while.