Rear Projection
This story originally appeared in Challenger vol. 1, #1 — Spring 2017
I live in the First Hill neighborhood of Seattle. Yesler Terrace, a 30-acre public housing development built in the early ’40s, occupies First Hill’s southernmost border and is in the process of being torn down to make way for mixed-income housing complexes. I’ve watched the project unfold from its start in 2013. Suffice to say, it’s an ambitious, complicated undertaking, and it’s nowhere near finished.
One thing is for certain: the redevelopment of Yesler Terrace has generated a lot of garbage. Much of this garbage is electronic waste in the form of cathode ray tube televisions–CRT TVs. For decades, CRT TVs dominated the television set marketplace, but in the mid to late 2000s, companies like Sony, Mitsubishi, and Samsung stopped manufacturing them to meet the public’s demand for PDP (plasma) and LCD (liquid-crystal) TVs, which are lighter, more energy efficient, and easier to dispose of. Because CRTs contain high levels of lead and phosphors, they’re extremely hazardous to the environment and should not be placed in the garbage. Most major cities prohibit residents from disposing of e-waste in this way. Nevertheless, when I walk around Yesler Terrace, I see discarded CRT TVs all the time. They’re usually cosmetically sound, but unless I carry them home with me and plug them in, there’s no way of knowing whether they work.
Another common sight: empty flat screen boxes. A new TV to take the old TV’s place. In the case of Yesler Terrace, the city is forcing its residents’ hands, saying, you could either lug this heavy, outmoded set to your new apartment, or you could buy a flat screen, which is not only lighter, but will take up less room where you’re going. When you get down to it, the choice is simple: it’s time for an upgrade. The cycle must continue.
I imagine a similar cycle has all but played itself out in the suburbs of Chicago, where I grew up. In 2008, my parents replaced their Sony CRT TV with a Sony LCD HDTV. We moved the old Sony into our lake house to replace an even older Sony that had served our family for 15 years. Meanwhile, back in the suburbs, my parents reclaimed not one square foot of living space. The corner where the old Sony used to be now belongs to the new Sony. Sure, a change has occurred, but was it an arbitrary one? What did my family gain? Why do we keep buying televisions?
Years ago in the age of the CRT TV, when television sets failed, owners would hire repairmen to fix them. How quaint! But seriously, when was the last time you or someone you know serviced a television? For me, the year was 2010. I was between college and grad school, and living with my parents. I spent many days and nights watching TV in the basement where it was cool. After a few months, however, our old Hitachi rear-projection television (RPTV) started malfunctioning, its picture separating into reds, blues, and greens. I’d smack it on its side to get the colors to realign. That worked for awhile–until it didn’t. Unwilling or unable to carry the 60” Hitachi up the stairs and to the curb, my dad called a repairman.
Through the mid ‘00s–and especially in the ‘90s–when people spoke of “big screen TVs,” they meant RPTVs, those tall, deep, and massive sets that could be found in so many suburban basements. I remember getting ours in time for Super Bowl XXXI, how the size and clarity of the screen made it seem like I was on the field. And every time a television event of similar magnitude aired–the Seinfeld finale, Game 6 of the ’98 NBA Finals, and when John Carpenter won a million dollars–my parents would vacate their first-floor recliners and trek downstairs for a rare basement appearance. Our big screen TV brought us together. And though that may seem kind of sad in retrospect, back then it didn’t feel sad at all. It felt exciting. The Hitachi elevated television.
In many respects, RPTVs deserve a critical reevaluation. Their immovability/permanence is their greatest attribute, they present opportunities for long-term use via repairing/replacing broken parts (lamps, convergence circuits, etc.), and without getting too sentimental or preachy, hiring a repairman or woman helps bolster local economies and feels less icky than buying a whole new set from Amazon. We should all feel at least a little ashamed by how often we toss out perfectly good electronics–and not just TVs. Laptops, cell phones, tablets… When we’re due for an upgrade, we shouldn’t go immediately to the Verizon store. We can all live with a cracked screen.
I’m also intrigued by the sculptural potential in every RPTV. They remind me of shoebox dioramas and of light boxes, and I imagine they could be repurposed as such. An RPTV’s depth, weight, and implied nostalgia might lend a piece a certain gravity. Imagine walking into an art gallery and seeing a wall of RPTVs like they used to have at Best Buy. An artist could create this show, and for cheap. Search Craigslist. There are currently four free RPTVs available in the Seattle area, all bigger than 50 inches. To compare, a 36x48 inch stretched canvas won’t come cheaper than $30. The difference? To own that RPTV, you’ve got to haul it away yourself.
The other day, as I was walking down a block of soon-to-be-demolished Yesler Terrace homes, a thought occurred to me: where are the RPTVs? I realize that many residents couldn’t afford them or avoided them for spatial reasons, but given the ubiquity of flat panels, flat panel boxes, and bulky CRT TVs, I remain unconvinced that there aren’t RPTVs in some units. What will become of them? Will the city abide its ordinance and take them to be recycled? If not, how many will be buried in the rubble?
