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he was internally warmed by my antics. His smile was like the Mona Lisa’s. You had to look for a long time before you could detect it. Sometimes I staged acts from the
Ted Mack Amateur Hour
for him and let him be the applause-o-metre. Although his movements were infinitesimal and could be missed if you didn’t know him well, I could tell his top choice was my rendition of Kate Smith singing “God Bless America.” His favourite part was when I belted out “Stand beside her and guide her.” I was sure that the Indian had been a guide before agreeing to come to my home on the RCA Victor.
    We of the RCA Victor coterie observed one another’s privacy. John Cameron Swayzee never yelled at me and was always polite, even if it took me a few extra seconds to find a product; in fact he covered for me by pretending not to notice. The Indian never looked at me straight on. He always remained in profile, as though he were saying to me, “It’s enough we share space, let’s not crowd each other with dew-eyed expectant stares and fawning approval.” I too tried to give them their space. I was careful never to look behind the RCA Victor as I felt it was not part of viewing protocol any more than it would be acceptable to enter the projection booth when I went to see
Rear Window
with my grandmother, nor would I wander backstage when Gramma took me to see
The Nutcracker
at Christmas. I felt it was rude for Dolores to go behind the RCA Victor to vacuum and I became agitated when she refused to follow simple audience etiquette.
    Within a year there was other “news” and other “programs” or “shows,” but I was mostly attached to John. (We were on a first-name basis within a few months.) That’s when what my mothercalled my “strange behaviour” began. I was the only one in Lewiston that John was addressing. He was always extremely friendly, had all kinds of news, and visited at the same time daily. He shared a number of products with me and actually asked me directly what I thought of his favourites. I knew that since I saw him, he must therefore see me. I had no intention of ignoring him as my mother so often suggested. After all, I felt I should break the news to her that he hadn’t come to see
her
. When he asked if we had Spic & Span or when the cigarette girl bellowed “John Phillip Mo
rr
is” or when John held up Camel cigarettes, I tore to a cupboard where I had all my RCA Victor products stored, and presented the correct one to John. Once he saw me display my product, he returned to the news. It got to the point that I couldn’t leave the house for fear John would ask
me
if I had Camels and I would have to run and get the product and hold it in front of the RCA Victor where he smiled back approvingly.
    I was living proof that television was not a passive form of entertainment. I was jumping around all the time, lining up my products, and answering all questions asked. John asked me if I could stand the sight of built-up wax, if I wanted to know about the weather, and several other adult questions. Actually, I was quite flattered when he addressed me as “the lady of the house.”
    As advertising caught on, my RCA Victor products began to fill the living room. After I had a fit of rage one day when Dolores moved my 20 Mule Team Borax, my mother finally consulted the “the media guru of Lewiston” — Dr. Laughton, the pediatrician who had already placed me into forced labour. Dr. Laughton asked me incredibly stupid questions, such as, did I think Cinderella was talking to me in the Walt Disney movie. Whywould I think Cinderella was talking to
me
when I’d seen it in a theatre where there were hundreds of people in the audience?
Strange.
He asked why I thought that John Cameron Swayzee wanted to see
my
products. As if I’d have any idea why John Cameron Swayzee had chosen me. Why had the Virgin Mother appeared at