“WORLD TELEVISION PREMIERE” was a familiar and sometimes exciting phrase for kids in the early 1980s. It meant that you were going to watch a big budget, smash-hit Hollywood movie at home. Unless you had one of the four – FOUR! – premium stations, there were two ways to watch recent popular movies: You could go to the theater, or you could catch one on sychronous broadcast TV. I have a hazy memory of watching Mark Hamill introduce Star Wars on a little black and white set in my room as a preschooler. At the time it was kind of a big deal.
VCRs became available in affordable consumer models in the mid-1970s, but it took about 10 years for them to catch on. No one we knew had one until my folks bought one in 1985, right smack in the middle of the format war and the golden age of the local video shop. Overnight, it seemed like everyone else got one too.
Folklore and urban legends are fiction we choose to believe, enhanced by person-to-person transmission. If a novel or film can be said to be a window into another place or time, then surely some part of the mind recognizes the conduit of book or screen can be closed at will. Folk legends have a verisimilitude no found footage movie or false document fiction could ever match, because we receive them from real people in the real world; not peering at a page or a rectangle of projected light, but immersed in and surrounded by the great limitless sphere of everything we can see and hear and feel, and everything behind and beyond that. You cannot close the book against the horror of an escaped madman or the mystery of a vanished hitchhiker because it exists in the real world that we inhabit – if you choose to believe the tale, or are gullible enough to accept it without question.
I don’t remember how or why I started hanging around with Kevin Tanner, but I remember we bonded over stories of Bigfoot, flying saucers, and psychic premonitions of the Titanic sinking. Kevin and his gift for storytelling are central to one of the most cringe-inducing memories of my childhood.