As I continue downsizing the stuff in my garage, I came across the compact stereo player I had as a child.

I don’t recall exactly when my parents got me the stereo, but when examining the date of the records and especially the 45’s I still have in my possession, it was in 1966 when I was eight years old.

That stereo was a huge item for me because it meant I didn’t have to use the old cabinet stereo in the living room to play records which was shared by the entire family.  I could play the music I wanted when I wanted to in my bedroom which was actually a den shared with my brother (nine years older than me).

Stereo systems were manufactured in wooden cabinets just like radios.  Then companies produced smaller, portable versions like the one I had.

And mine was a Philco, model no. P-1446-GY, with a 6-transitor stereo amplifier and a 4-speed automatic record changer.

The reason I had a Philco stereo is because my father worked for Philco as a salesman for a short time.  By the way, the name is not for the founders of the company, rather for the city where it was founded, Philadelphia.  The company has long ago gone out of business.

This stereo had four speed settings:  78, 45, 33, 16.  Yes, 16.  I never used that setting which led me to do a bit of research on history of records.

In 1910, shellac records were manufactured to be played at 78 ¼ revolutions per minute (rpm).  Shellac, however, made these 10-inch albums brittle like glass so one had to be careful in handling them.

In 1948, 12-inch vinyl records were produced.  Not only were they more durable than shellac, they provided more content since the speed was cut to 33 1/3 rpm, thus the term long-playing or LP came into use.

In 1949, smaller 7-inch discs were introduced.  With an rpm of 45, they had one song on each side.  Music producers would put the song that had the most hit potential on the A-side and hide an inferior song on the B-side.  Sometimes the B-side song outsold the A-side one.

In 1957, record companies came out with discs that played at 16 2/3 rpm, half the speed of 33’s.  These were mainly for spoken material like book readings or speeches.  This format lasted less than 15 years.

The design of my compact stereo, about the size of a boxy microwave, was genius.  Like a suitcase, there was a latch on top that upon opening would unleash two external speakers that swung out on hinges.  Each speaker could be unhooked from the turntable and placed a few feet away to enhance the stereo separation.  

My stereo was gray and I loved the blue/green color of the speakers’ fabric.  I was so proud to have it that I used a piece of gold-colored carbon paper that imprinted my name on top of it so no one else in the house would forget that it was mine.

To release the turntable required inserting a finger in a small hole to pull it down in an upright position.  

To this day, I still have several of the 45 records my parents bought me that first year in 1966.  Here were some of my purchases:

• Sonny and Cher’s “The Beat Goes On”
• The Herman Hermits’ “Leaning on the Lamp Post”
• Neil Hefti’s “Batman Theme” (for the popular TV series)
• Sam the Sham’s “Lil Red Ridin’ Hood”
• The Royal Guardsmen’s “Snoopy vs. the Red Baron”
• Nancy Sinatra’s “The Last of the Secret Agents?” (which decades later was signed by Nancy herself)

Remember, this music was chosen by an 8-year-old.

That Philco stereo has traveled with me over the years even though I haven’t used it since  my late teens.  That’s when the stereo marketplace changed.  Music lovers had to purchase all the components separately:  turntable, speakers and receivers (a smart money-making move by those manufacturers).

I was curious if my stereo still worked, so I carried it out from the garage onto the patio. 

I pulled out the power cord neatly folded up and stored in the back, and plugged it in.  I moved the power lever near the tonearm to the “on” position.

Unbelievably, the turntable turned.  It still worked! 

Quickly I went into the house to retrieve one of the few 78 records I still had, Frank Sinatra singing “Day by Day” on the Columbia label.  It was produced on Aug. 22, 1945, 11 days before the end of World War Two.

I gently placed it on the turntable.  I gingerly moved the tonearm onto the record.  And I could hear Frankie singing, though the volume was extremely low.   Adjusting the volume control had no effect on making the sound louder so clearly the machine had diminished.

I turned it off, then turned it back on again.  And guess what?

It stopped working.

It’s as if my Philco stereo had enough life to be played one more time, and that was it.

That’s when I knew I had to say goodbye to a piece of my childhood.  It served me well.

I took photos and video of the stereo to show my wife and sons who had never seen it opened up.

When my youngest son saw the footage, he encouraged me to keep it, texting, “You could repurpose it and make it a time capsule of sorts.”  I briefly thought about it, but I couldn’t imagine where in my house I would put the Philco.  It would end up back in the garage, never to be seen for who knows how long.

I called my city’s refuse department which picked up bulky items that didn’t fit in one’s trash cans and placed my Philco stereo along with a couple of other items on the parkway on my trash pick-up day.

Periodically, that morning, I would peer out my front window to see if the items were picked up yet.  About the third time I looked out, I noticed that the Philco stereo was gone while the other items were still there.

Someone had come by and rescued the Philco.  I’d like to think that whoever took it had a fondness for old record players.  I hope it brightens someone else’s life as it did my childhood. 

And whoever has it will know whose stereo this was for “Brian” remains embossed on top of it.  It will always be mine.