The Ohio Movie and TV Hall of Fame

  The Christmas That Tried To Take Me Out (based on no true events whatsoever)  Let me tell you something — this wasn’t just a bad Christmas. This was a full-scale, holiday-themed ambush. Christmas didn’t wake up that morning. It clocked in, put on steel-toe boots, and said, “Yeah… today we’re choosing violence.” It started early. Too early. The alarm went off like it was late for work, even though nobody asked it to. I rolled out of bed already tired of a holiday that hadn’t even had the decency to fail yet. The tree? Leaning. Not festive leaning. Suspicious leaning. Like it was waiting for the right moment to fall and embarrass me in front of everyone. Presents? Wrapped beautifully… for the wrong people. Nothing says Christmas magic like opening a gift and realizing halfway through the paper rip that you’ve committed a felony. The food? Oh, the food had opinions. One dish was burned like it had a grudge. Another was still frozen, spiritually and physically. Something sme...

 Welcome to Holiday Classics on the Air — A Christmas Story and Its Cleveland Home!” Good evening, friends! Tonight we’re stepping into the snow-dusty world of one of the most beloved holiday films ever made — A Christmas Story — and we’re bringing you a festive tour of its real-life Cleveland connection, fun facts, plot insights, cast highlights, and a guide for fans planning a pilgrimage to see the house itself. 🎬 The Movie That Became a Holiday Tradition Released in 1983 and narrated by the adult voice of Ralphie Parker, A Christmas Story tells the nostalgic story of a boy growing up in the 1940s Midwest who has one heartfelt Christmas wish: the Red Ryder BB gun. From enduring the endless lineup at Higbee’s Department Store to surviving a bar of Lifebuoy soap in the mouth, Ralphie’s journey is equal parts hilarious, heartfelt, and timelessly relatable. � Wikipedia Here’s the core of the plot: Ralphie Parker desires a Red Ryder BB gun more than anything, but adults constantly wa...

TOMBSTONE: THE SERIES Book One Chapter One:  The Town That Listens Tombstone had a way of listening when folks thought it wasn’t. Sheriff Elijah Boone knew that before he ever took the badge. Knew it the first night the wind slid down Allen Street like it was late for something. Knew it when the boards creaked even without footsteps. A town like this didn’t sleep—it waited. The saloon doors of the Oriental slapped open and shut, coughing out cigar smoke, laughter, and a piano that had been abused all evening. Boone stood across the street, hat low, coat unbuttoned, watching the windows like they might blink. Deputy Horace Bell stood beside him, eyes wide, fingers tight around his shotgun. “You hear that?” Bell whispered. Boone didn’t look at him. “I hear a piano and a man who don’t know when to quit.” “No,” Bell said, leaning closer. “Under it. Like…breathin’.” Boone sighed. “Bell, if the street starts breathing, I’ll let you know.” Bell nodded, but didn’t relax. He never did. B...

  Santa  and  The Christmas Eve Adventure   The sleigh settled silently above the roof, its runners never touching wood or snow. Santa stood at the edge, wind tugging at his coat. The house below throbbed with unrest—raised voices earlier, slammed doors, a child now awake in the dark. He turned toward the sleigh. “Prancer,” Santa said, meeting the reindeer’s ancient eyes. “I need you to show me what this house hides.” Prancer lowered his head. The roof peeled away—not physically, but truthfully. Santa saw the argument unfold again, sharper now. The father’s words. The mother’s silence. The moment the child learned fear could live indoors. He looked back to the sleigh. “Comet,” he said quietly, “I need you to show me where this night leads if I do nothing.” Comet’s breath fogged, glowing faintly. The future unfolded like falling dominos—the boy older, guarded, distant. Holidays endured instead of cherished. A family sharing space, not love. Santa turned away. “That...

Chapter 1  The bar was thick with smoke, cheap whiskey, and bad confidence. A dozen crooks crowded around a scarred wooden table, laughing too loud, talking even louder. “Subader,” one of them snorted, slapping the table. “That name still cracks me up.” The bar echoed with laughter. “Subader,” one crook chuckled. “Worst name mash-up ever.” Another crook chimed in, swirling his drink. “What is he—Superman? Batman? Spider-Man?” He leaned back. “Pick a lane, bro.” The table erupted in laughter. “Yeah,” a third added, “cape, wings, webs—what’s next, laser eyes and a utility belt full of daddy issues?” More laughter. Glasses clinked. Someone mock-spread their arms. “Ooooh, I’m Subaaader,” he said in a fake growl. “I brood on rooftops and scare pigeons.” That’s when the room got cold. Not temperature-cold. Quiet-cold. The bar’s front door creaked open. The laughter died first. Then the music stopped—no one remembered touching the jukebox. Heavy footsteps echoed across the floor. Slow....

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