Children’s TV sure has changed a heap since I was, well, a kid. Of course, I grew up watching an old black and white TV set many decades “B.C.” (before computers). Kids today would think the stuff that entertained us when we were their age were products of the stone age. You know what? They’d be right, but it sure was entertaining.

I recently had a discussion with a co-worker and somehow got on the subject of “The Three Stooges.” I mentioned I used to rush home from school and tune in “The Major Mudd Show” on WNAC out of Boston. It was the early-1960s and at the time WNAC was the ABC affiliate on Channel 7.

“Major Mudd” was in reality Ed McDonnell who, sadly, passed on in 1979. Like “Rex Trailer” and other kid’s shows of the time, it aired live with an audience of children. As it turned out, my co-worker was on the show once.

Mudd wore a goofy space suit and the “lunar” set featured his spaceship, The Nervous 1, and a crew of ants led by Ricky. He signed off the show each day by proclaiming, “I’ll be blasting you.” If Mudd was still around and said that on the air today, Homeland Security would probably put him on the no fly list as a potential terrorist threat.

I never was on the show, but I did become a card-carrying member of his Lost Battalion Club. Good stuff and a fun show at a time when the space race was still in its infancy.

But if nothing else, Major Mudd got me hooked for life on “The Three Stooges,” which was the show’s feature. Mudd did short skits and fillers in between Stooges’ shorts. Half a century later, and I still know most of their classic routines by heart.

Locally, WMUR-TV aired kiddy programs like “The Uncle Gus Show,” with Gus Bernier, and “The Ring-A-Ding the Clown Show,” featuring Merrimack chiropractor and magician Dwight Damon and, for many years, fellow magician Steve Thomas as his “side-kick” Sam the Tramp.

Steve and his family lived in an apartment above us on 34 Broad St. That house was later converted into a business after it’s owner passed on.

I was a senior in high school then and Steve had graduated a year earlier. I learned he was a film editor at WMUR and he invited me to go with him to the station to see how they did the show, which aired Saturday mornings. I wound up riding with Steve to the station many more Saturday’s afterward.

The shows were loosely planned, at best. Dwight would come in and he and Steve would agree on a couple of magic tricks and a skit or two. They had several regular features, such as greeting “little Suzie and Johnny and Mikey” and any other name that popped in Dwight’s head at the start of the show. There also was a weekly puppet segment (Steve worked the puppets off camera).

Being “live” and with Steve and Dwight being pranksters, it wasn’t unusual for Dwight to reach behind the curtain to try to tickle Steve to make him jump or laugh. Then there was the morning the cameraman got into the act. As Dwight was greeting his television audience, the cameraman unexpectedly unfurled a centerfold pinup. Without missing a beat, Dwight said something like, “… and I see Jimmy, and Bobby and … (with a big wink and smile) oh, my, Suzie, you are such a BIG girl, … and hi there Mark and Jane and …” The folks at home had no clue, of course, but everyone in the studio was rolling on the floor laughing and in tears.

But the real magic was in (you guessed it) the magic.

I appeared on the show a few times for some of the tricks they staged. Around Christmas 1966, Dwight staged a magic show production of “The Little Old Toy Maker,” which we performed at John Hancock Hall in Boston and at Hanscom Air Force Base in Bedford, Mass. Dwight remained in character, and Steve played the toymaker. Dwight’s son and I were used in several tricks, including one where I disappeared then magically reappeared.

“The Ring-A-Ding the Clown Show” enjoyed a 17-year run on WMUR. It might look hokey to kids today, but you know something? It was shows like “Ring-A-Ding,” “Uncle Gus,” “Major Mudd” and “Rex Trailer” that sparked the imaginations of countless kids like me, and did so without being crude and lewd. Somehow, I don’t think we turned out all that bad for it, either.

Paul Sylvain is a freelance columnist who writes from his home in Merrimack. His column appears on the second Sunday of the month. He may be reached by e-mail at psylvain.telegraph@yahoo.com.