The Faceless Accutron

____________________________________________________________________________________

Are you ready? Because I want you to pay   attention," he starts. "This is the beginning of something..."

So began the last season
of  Mad Men


"The Accutron is not a time piece.
  It is a conversation piece." 
  




What I wore on my wrist in 1970 was identical to the image.

I cannot count the number of conversations the watch inspired 
nor can I count the number of ears anxious to hear it hum
instead of tick.

Before the cumbersome term–battery-operated watch–
entered the vernacular, there was the ACCUTRON.
 
At a party, a friend exclaimed "You're wearing a Bulova!"
My reply was "Nonsense. Bulova is a type of  caviar.
This is an Accutron!"

To my chagrin, everyone present laughed  hysterically.
I stopped wearing the watch.
Temporarily.

The watch was a second-generation gift. 
Someone gave it to my father and
my mother suggested I wear it 
to his funeral in March, 1971.
And so I did.

I also wore it to her funeral, six months later.

I next wore it where it inspired 
my greatest Accutron memories.

Hundreds of students in Harlem 
insisted on hearing the watch hum. 

As a substitute teacher without anything 
resembling lesson plans, I was very accommodating  
but not stupid enough to remove the Accutron from my wrist.

What I was wearing at the time was a chaos-control mechanism
and  Harlem in 1972 became my favorite conversation piece
when I would go home to Whitestone or visit relatives 
in the Bronx. ____________________________________________________________________________________