In the chaotic, low-resolution world of late-night VHS tapes and scrambled cable signals, three words captured a generation’s collective anxiety: “Was that 87?”
Then it’s gone. Replaced by a test pattern or a preacher selling salvation. You spin the fine-tune knob. Nothing. was that 87
If you grew up in the 1980s or 1990s, you know the scene. It’s 11:30 on a school night. You’ve twisted the TV’s UHF dial to a fuzzy channel—maybe 33, maybe 56—because you heard they sometimes show movies uncut. Static hisses like rain. Then, through the snow, a glimpse: a car chase, an explosion, or (if you’re lucky) a silhouette removing a blouse. In the chaotic, low-resolution world of late-night VHS
Even if you don’t know the answer, you’ll understand the feeling. David L. is a writer based in Portland. His first memory of channel 87 was a 1986 Buick commercial that turned into a werewolf. Nothing
“Was that 87?” is therefore less a question about television and more a question about . It’s the analog equivalent of a corrupted JPEG—a moment that exists just outside the frame of memory. The Modern Echo Today, we have 4K streaming, instant replays, and “Are you still watching?” prompts. We never ask “Was that 87?” because we never lose the signal. Every frame is archived, timestamped, and searchable.
By morning, the question became unanswerable. You couldn’t rewind live TV. You couldn’t search a database. You could only replay the 1.5 seconds of grainy footage in your mind until it turned into something else entirely.
So next time you scroll past a blurry meme or a glitching YouTube upload, pause. Ask yourself: Was that 87?