When I heard this sound emanating from our television set as a kid in the 60s I exhibited an almost palovian response, dashing to take my place in from of our trusty RCA. With no VHS, DVR, or streaming access to replay, it was do or die, watch or forever miss out. The horns, drums, and cymbals heralded a TV show filled with a glimpse of forgein lands, continents away or oceans away or galaxies away. It was an invitation to glimpse a unique cultures or native peoples. It was a scuba dive with Jacques Cousteau, or a chance to peer into volcanoes, or to summit Mount Everest. or to meet Jane Goodall and her gorillas in Tanzania.
The show of course, was National Geographic Presents and it exists today in new incarnations on both cable TV (Nat Geo and Natgeo Wild) and Disney +.
For a young girl in the 60s, in a rural corner of North Carolina and many, many Americans it was a marvel and a not-to-be missed event. I didn't fully understand the true value at the time but I had a neighbor that did.
"Miss" Bertha Parker lived in a stately brick home two doors down from our house. She was a big part of the extended community that raised me and modeled so many behaviors that helped shape me. She loved and supported our Methodist Church with her time, talents, and cooking. She was a woman of faith as well as being smart, astute, and plain-spoken. And she had a backbone. She was an avid reader of The News and Observer, firing off Letters to the Editor (once to express her outrage at their risque XXX movie ads.) She kept up with politics and was very concerned about what was happening in Raleigh and Washington.
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| Mrs. Bertha Parker in her later years. |
In addition Miss Bertha recognized her place as a citizen of the world and worked to share that understanding with me and my family. Every year, without fail, she gave us a gift subscription to the National Geographic Magazine.
As soon as I was old enough, I took over the task of walking the half block downtown to get the mail from the post office. On the days we received our monthly issue of the National Geographic Magazine, I rushed home to curl up on the couch in the quiet front room to take a look. The magazine's distinctive cover always featured a striking photograph framed with a yellow band and intricate black scrollwork. The glossy pages inside featured similar marvels to the television series but in dynamic and dramatic photographs. If we were lucky, a map might tumble out or we'd dsicover foldout pages inside. The writing was superb and well researched, the explorers, scientists, anthropologists, archeologists, paleontolgists, primatologists, zoologists, all the "-ologists" absolutely top notch. In a very real way, this magazine, and the remarkable woman who gifted it to us, opened my eyes to the world.
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| Foldout from the July 2023 issue |
I now look forward to walking down to my mailbox at the end of my driveway and finding the latest edition. These days the magazine covers stories similar to those on which the National Graphic Society was founded in 1888, but now includes topics as far ranging as scientific discovery, world politics, art, space, climate change, and memorably, COVID-19. As the National Geographic Society website states they are dedicated to the "increase and diffusion of knowledge." It continues to state that "National Geographic Explorers are continuing to push the boundaries of knowledge, uncovering new insights about the natural and cultural worlds..."
Today, my mom and I sat on our front porch and I read her an article about elephants from a recent issue. When I was done, she took the magazine from me to peruse the photos again, then put it in her lap, patted it, and said "It's a good magazine."
It is, Mom. It really is.
