The TV Tray Mystery

Pine Grove, Arizona
2024

Unlike the chicken and the egg, there is little debate about which came first between the television and the television tray. Following the advent of US network television in the mid-to-late 1940s, necessity’s mother gave birth to the TV tray in the early 1950s, and that unique form of portable furniture became a staple in a number of American households. 

My parents had one of those little sets of four collapsable metal trays with the thin tube swivel legs that snapped into place. On any number of occasions, a tray served as the platform for my Swanson TV dinner, usually turkey, so that I could participate in the family’s viewing of Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Perry Mason, and other shows that we enjoyed during the 1950s, 1960s, and beyond. And for the record, while the turkey was always enjoyed, and the mashed potatoes were often consumed, the stuff in those other two Swanson TV dinner aluminum compartments rarely entered my system.

As time marched on, TV trays got more sophisticated. Both my parents and my wife Denise’s parents acquired sets of relatively heavy wooden TV trays. And as the lucky winners in our respective families, each of us inherited those TV trays when our folks passed away. The design of our home in Mesa, Arizona, is such that our TV screen can easily be seen from our kitchen dining table, so there was no practical need for the TV trays.

Thus, they migrated to our summer season home in the mountains, where, for a time, they served as end tables and nightstands. Similar to the design of the open kitchen–family room area in Mesa, the analogous space at our other place affords a clear view of the TV from the dining area, so eventually, when actual end tables and nightstands were obtained, the racks of TV trays moved back into storage up there.

Denise and I have been involved with the senior adult ministry at our church for the better part of twenty years. During almost all those years, we have hosted a summer season retreat for senior adults, because everyone who lives in the Phoenix metro area enjoys getting out of town during the summer, even if only for a few days.

When hosting groups of people up there, our TV trays were regularly deployed as deck furniture. The spacious back deck runs the entire length of the house, offers a nice view, and is a favorite gathering spot for retreat participants who want to enjoy naturally cool outdoor air, something that doesn’t exist in Phoenix at any time of the day during June through September. Moreover, visitors seem to appreciate a nice lemonade, iced tea, or bottle of water, and maybe some snacks. Hence, another motive for utilizing the multi-purpose TV tray. 

The 2024 edition of the retreat featured approximately twenty-five participants. When that many people are coming and going over a three-or-four-day weekend period, it’s common for things to go missing. In the frenzy of movement and activity, it’s easy for people to misplace jackets, sweaters, sunglasses, reading glasses, hats, and sometimes even cell phones. But an AWOL TV tray? That was a new one, even for us.

But, as the post-retreat cleanup ensued that year, sure enough, we could not find one of the TV trays that Denise had inherited from her parents. It wasn’t on the wooden rack that had been custom-made for that set of TV trays, and it wasn’t on the back deck where I was certain it had been deployed. We searched the garage, various closets, the spaces underneath beds, and behind various doors, in short, all the places where renegade TV trays seem to hide, to no avail.

I found myself harboring thoughts like Who would want to take a TV tray? Did some kid in the neighborhood take it because one of their family’s similar TV trays had wandered off? Should I put the other three and the rack out so that they can come back and get a complete matching set? Taking a single TV tray just didn’t make any sense to me. Moreover, it was easy to envision how a conversation with the local constabulary would go.

“Officer, I’d like to report a missing TV tray.”

“A missing TV tray? Really?”

Undaunted by the hint of skepticism that I detected in the relatively older officer’s voice, I said, “Yes, a missing TV tray.”

Smirking, he replied, “Was it made out of gold or something?”

“No, it was just one of those little wooden TV trays that was part of a set that my wife inherited from her parents.”

He said: “Oh, so it was an heirloom TV tray. Something of great sentimental value to your wife.”

“Well, I honestly don’t know how precious it was to her. I haven’t seen her doing a lot of worrying and crying about it, but she may be privately mourning. I could find out.”

“Okay, buddy. What’s your name?”

“Dave Slick.”

“Alright, Mr. Flick, where do you live?”

“No, it’s Slick, not Flick. S as in Sam, L-I-C-K.”

“Slick? With an S? Really? Are you related to Grace?”

“Well, yes. She lives with us.”

With a knowing head nod he said: “Okay, now I get it. You’re a relative of a celebrity. After all those years with the likes of Jefferson Airplane, I can imagine why she might eventually retreat to a small town like this. Do you suppose I could get an autograph?”

“Well, she’s a pretty smart Australian Shepherd, but I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her do any writing,” I offered with a note of sincere, heartfelt fondness.

I recognized an abrupt change in the officer’s tone as he said, “Grace Slick is the name of your dog? Seriously?”

Sensing a need to move on with the purpose of my visit to the police station, I provided our local address.

After logging that into his computer, he said, “Can you describe the missing item?” 

“Well, it’s a TV tray made out of blond-looking wood of some type. Here’s a picture.” I somewhat proudly showed him the photo on my phone that I had taken in advance preparation for this particular question. Was I standing tall at attention just then? Maybe.

After typing some words on his keyboard, he looked up and asked, “When did you last see the TV tray?”

I replied, “Last Saturday night.”

He queried, “Did you have any guests or visitors last Saturday night?”

Uh oh. I could see where this was headed. Obediently, I responded, “Well, yes. I lead the senior adult ministry at our church in Mesa. My wife and I have been hosting an annual summer season retreat for people for years, and this year’s event was this past weekend. There were about twenty-five people at our house at various times during the day and evening, and many of them came back for breakfast on Sunday morning.”

If there’s a deeper, visual form of sarcasm, maybe that’s what framed the officer’s face as he said “Great, only twenty-five suspects. Can you provide the names and addresses of these people?”     

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I protested. “These are good Christian people. They can’t possibly be suspects.”

“Mr. Slick,” he replied, “Are you familiar with mathematics? Your heirloom TV tray goes missing on the same day that twenty-five people visit your home? We don’t believe in coincidences. Two plus two equals four.”

Defeated, I said, “Well, um, I don’t have that information with me at this time.”  

Now somewhat and somehow more formal in tone, he replied, “Well, sir, to summarize, your name is Slick. That much is true—you look a lot like the photograph on your driver’s license, which I checked while we’ve been talking. You claim to lead a Sunday school class for elderly people at a church in the Valley, and a bunch of them were at your place up here last Saturday night, and one of your TV trays, an inherited family treasure, went missing. Is that correct?”      

“Um, yes,” I offered in a resigned tone.

Noises that sounded a lot like stifled chuckling from the numerous people at nearby desks, cubicles, and offices in the police station reached my ears. I had no idea there could be so much joy in that particular line of work and wondered how many other uplifting cases they could be working on at the same time.

“Well, sir, when you are able to provide the names and addresses of all of those visitors, we will assign a case number to this matter, and detectives in our missing TV tray division will certainly pursue this in an appropriate, professional manner.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Is that all you need for now?”

“I believe so,” he replied.

As the door shut behind me, was that thunder or thunderous applause I heard from somewhere? I wasn’t sure. There’s a lot of thunder up there during the monsoon season.

Four days after the retreat ended, I found it. I was enjoying a Little League World Series game when an opening in the deep recesses of my mind occurred. I realized that the erstwhile missing TV tray was in the closet, right where it should be. But that particular closet happens to be located in something we ironically call the TV room at our home in Mesa. While I no longer choose to enjoy Swanson TV dinners, I had taken one of our TV trays home at least five years prior so that I would have a platform to support reheated pizza, potato chips, ice cream, root beer, and the other mainstays of my world-class athletic diet while watching sports programs at home. I’d had a senior moment at a retreat for senior citizens.

How fitting! Mystery solved.