For many years American children sat down after supper each evening to snap on their radio dials. Sometimes they heard a sepulchre, Peter Lorre voice from a man named Raymond tell them about the "Inner Sanctum." On those nights America's children were scared. On other nights they waited with untrammeled glee until a man named McGee opened a closet door and years of clutter crashed to the living room floor. On those nights America's children were filled with great mirth. On yet another night, as they snapped on their Crosleys, Stromberg-Carlsons, or Zeniths, they waited with anxious breath until a woman's voice cried out, "Henry, Henry Aldrich," and a young teenager's voice answered, "Coming, Mother." On those nights America's children felt right at home.

Henry Aldrich did not hate his mot…