Kids, It's the Doody Truth

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I think we toured the Empire State Building that day. On the way up to the observation deck I asked the elevator operator how he liked his job. He said: "It has its ups and downs."

People in the elevator laughed, all but me. For one thing, it took me a while to get the joke, and the fact that it was on me. Even at 7, I didn't like being anybody's straight man. I knew, too, that I could only blame my unfounded pride in being a boy who asked extremely intelligent questions. New York will catch you out on that stuff, every time.

So I was probably in no mood to cut any slack for the civic allure of Doodyville when, after a mandatory bathroom stop, we were led into a studio. It was a big, ceilingless space with an industrial clutter of cables, lights, booms and television cameras the size of doghouses, back in those vacuum tube days. The Peanut Gallery bleachers were shabby and provisional, like the rest of the set. Men stood around smoking cigarettes. All grown-ups seemed to smoke cigarettes in 1948, but -- in Doodyville?

I don't recall if Buffalo Bob or anyone else greeted us or rehearsed us. It didn't matter. We all knew the answer to the question and the words to the song:

It's Howdy Doody Time.

Bob Smith and Howdy do

Say howdy do to you.

Let's give a rousing cheer,

'Cause Howdy Doody's here.

It's time to start the show,

So kids let's go!