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I was walking through a mall, gilded corridors lined with shops with nothing for me to buy. One shop, which featured gizmos of one sort or another, had a striking window display. I moseyed over and checked it out. One contraption had attached to it a card which read: "As Seen On TV." The quote marks were on the card, surrounding the brief text.

Like Proust with his madeleines, these four words whisked me back to another time-- the 50s to be specific-- when the phrase "As Seen On TV" was much more common in selling products. But why? I had to think about this. In the late 40s and early 50s, televisions were expensive and were only bought by the well-to-do. One must assume that products advertised on the medium were aimed at an economic elite. Yet even when TVs reached near total public saturation, products still were pitched with the As Seen On TV hook. TV also had censors, and station and network folks examined all programming and commercials. Jack Parr was fired as host of "The Tonight Show" in the early 60s for using the phrase "water closet." So, to get past these toney gate-keepers must mean you and your product were pretty spiffy.

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But no one says today, "As Seen On The Internet." Well, maybe someone does, but who cares? Everything is on the World Wide Web. So why did the shopkeeper of the store into which I browsed use the retro phrase As Seen On TV to pitch his gadget? Was he a throwback to the 50s? Was it meant as camp? I haven't enough brain cells to figure it out.

Does a product with some relation to technology-- a gizmo actually seen on TV-- have greater allure to the good folks? My thoughts turn to something called the Accu-Jack. This product made its debut in the 70s, and may still be around. It was a electronic machine that involved a pump you'd put on your cock; it was meant to bring you to orgasm. Yes, a Tom Swift and His Electric Jerk-Off Machine! I never met one in person, but I saw it featured in ads in gay rags-- As Seen In Torso!-- and it looked to involve wires, moving parts, and other wonders of industrial life. And for what? To jerk off! I looked at it and could only think of Fritz Lang's Metropolis. Edgar Poe has a poem called "Sonnet-- To Science." In it he writes about cruel science "who alterest all things with thy peering eyes... . Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?... . Hast thou not torn the Naiad from the flood... and from me the summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?" Hast thou not taken the hand from the jerk-off? I am concerned.

When the gay movement began to take off, there was speculation about which person would become the top spokesman for the masses. One hostile writer asked who would be the "Martin Luther Queen" for the gays. Actually, there were many hot for the slot, and many would get on the TV-- Gays As Seen On TV. Gore Vidal once offered career advice: "I never turn down invitations for sex or to be on the television." For his career path, this may be sound advice; for others, calamity. One gay author, a dear friend of mine, was on a national morning yak show, to promote his new book, out from a major publisher, and the poor dear-- upon whom the publisher had invested two or three sessions with a trainer who instructs in how to be Seen On TV-- slouched in his chair, didn't engage with Joan Lunden (or whoever), and made a bad appearance. I thought queans took to show biz like kids to candy. Once again, I am wrong.

And just the other day, right at my work place, I was listening to a great re-release of a Rosemary Clooney collection from the 50s. The younger ones at work hate it when I play the lady singers of the great jazz standards, but the middle-aged and older queans love it. Three of them commented on how much they enjoyed listening to Rosie. One plump quean came to the counter with his purchase. "Who's chirping?" he asked. I told him. He looked aghast. "As President of the New England chapter of the Judy Garland Fan Club, I should have known that! I know all the singers from that time." I was shocked and, at the same time, deeply satisfied. The idea that there was still a Judy Garland Fan Club hereabouts lit that one small candle in my heart, taking away the hurt of the memory of the Accu-Jack (wonder if there were any product liability suits?).

And it also put to rest a query I've been kicking around in this column for a very long time (I've been inking "Common Sense" since 1986, and a gay columnist since 1974-- a Herb Caen of the pink press!), and that query was this: Is there such a thing as an Arlene Francis quean? I once proposed the fact of such as a ridiculous joke. After my encounter with the Garland Fan Club Prez-- the same day another quean bought the new bio of Jeanette MacDonald; he told me "She's my Goddess"-- and learning every day more about the vastness of our gay community, I must now admit that I accept the fact of-- even though I have yet to actually meet one-- the existence of at least one Arlene Francis quean. To seal the deal, the Arlene quean could have a picture of his goddess on his cork board, and under it, in loving script, "As Seen On TV"! **

Author Profile:  Mitzel
	Mitzel was a founding member of the Fag Rag collective, and has been a Guide columnist since 1986. He manages Calamus Books near Boston's South Station.
	Email:	mitzel@calamusbooks.com
	Website:	calamusbooks.com