Radio Days

When I was young I was always in awe of my grandmother’s stereo radiogram. Not a record player, a radio, or even a tape recorder—a radiogram. It lived in its own elegant wooden cabinet, carved and varnished and polished so that it would fit in with even the most majestic surroundings. Behind a glass front panel was the radio dial, itself constructed from glass with markings painstakingly painted on. Lit from behind, it glowed like the control panel of one of the spaceships in the TV shows I was always watching, and was marked with both a scale in kHz and with the names of more radio stations than my young mind could concieve of.