This week in TV Guide: September 18, 1954

Throughout history, man has strugged with the great intellectual questions of the time: What is the meaning of life? Why are we here, and where are we going? What's for dinner tonight? Among those great questions, I can assure you that "When will Liberace marry?" has not been one of them.

Now, to be fair, the question of Liberace's future matrimonial status is not the focal point of the story (never let it be said that TV Guide couldn't grab you with a cover headline); in fact, the story is really about how a piano player using the name "Buster Keys" and performing in saloons and cafes at the rate of about $30 a week has managed to parlay this into an income nearing $1 million per year and living in a Hollywood mansion. 

Wladziu Valention Liberace's rise to fame started at the age of five; his parents had separated while he was still a small tot; his mother, convinced that her son was a child prodigy, worked two jobs in order to keep the family together. Everything he has done since, he says, he does "for Mom." In the summer of 1952, he got a 13-week gig as the summer replacement for Dinah Shore; that, plus a winning smile that has a magical effect on the ladies, took care of the rest. Today his concerts sell out and movie producers talk about putting him on the big screen; one discusses casting him as a boxer who also plays the piano. "Gee," he exclaimed, "I’d love to do something like that."

It hasn't always been easy for him on the way to the top; the poison-pen set in the press portray him as naive, "a perpetually grinning matinee idol, slightly on the pudgy side, who seems for all the world to be an overgrown little boy dependent on his mother," something that bothers him even in the midst of his success. "Why do they say these things about me?" he wonders out loud. "What have I done to them?" 

Many of these same columnists, upon meeting him in person, find him to be "the most cooperative of souls, wholly uncomplicated, not at all temperamental and with a rare sense of humor." An associate says that this is part of his appeal, that his "sincerity and genuine delight with what he is doing is something that comes across on that television screen." He hasn't forgotten those tough times of the past, and still thinks of himself as a simple Polish boy from Milwaukee. He's quietly generous with associates, fans, and those he does business with; when a contractor working on his home came down with polio, he "saw to it that the contractor and his family were taken care of financially." When he sees tourists "gaping" in front of his home, he invites them in and gives them a personal tour. 

But, you ask, what about the question on the cover? When will Liberace marry? It's a question those press sharpshooters have asked out loud, calling him a "Mama's Boy." I think you can read between the lines of comments like these; Liberace never publicly admitted to being a homosexual, and in fact successfully sues the British Daily Mirror for libel in 1959 after they descxribed him as "a deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavoured, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother love". The paper denies they meant to imply he was homosexual (talk about suspending disbelief!); the jury sides with Lee and awards him the equivalent today of £500,000. The unidentified reporter in TV Guide judiciously says that he will not marry as long as his mother is alive, and that "all his devotion is reserved for her and his music." (He has, however, twice come close to the altar.) 

I don't know if it's possible to "explain" Liberace; we're looking at him in his days before he became something of a self-parody, wearing flamboyant, Elvis-like costumes and the like. What I do know is that I've read too many accounts about his kindness to friends and strangers for that to have been a complete act, and the Christmas episode of his 1950s show (you can see it here) is both charming and appropriately devout; he was a lifelong Catholic who considered his 1956 meeting with Pope Pius XII one of the highlights of his life. All in all, I rather liked him.

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We don't often look at the world of late-night television in these old TV Guides, and for good reason: there are no late-night talk shows on network television, no late-night network movies; as a matter of fact, there's no network programming at all, once prime time wraps up. So, you might be wondering, what do people watch? 

Milwaukee's WTMJ leads off with a variety of short informational films in the 10:00 p.m. timeslot, followed by local news and weather at 10:15, reruns of various half-hour dramas at 10:30 and 11:00, the late movie at 11:30, a news wrapup at 1:00, and movies at 1:05 (except for Thursday, when we get wrestling!).   

In Chicago, viewers have four stations to choose from: WBBM, the CBS affiliate, presents 15 minutes of news at 10 p.m., followed by a 15-minute musical program, another 15 minutes of news at 10:30 p.m., and a 15-minute interview program hosted by newspaper columnist Irv Kupcinet. At 11:00 on Monday through Thursday, there's a half-hour drama (comprised of reruns of various series from the last couple of seasons), followed by a five-minute news update at 11:30 and late-night movie at 11:35; on Friday, The Howard Miller Show, a local variety program, runs from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m.

WNBQ, the NBC affiliate, leads off with the 10 p.m. weather, followed at 10:10 by a five-minute variety show, 15 minutes of news at 10:15, 15 minutes of sports at 10:30, 15 minutes of music from Herbie Mintz at 10:45, and a variety of shows at 11:00 that take us to sign-off: voice artist Ken Nordine on Monday, Championship Bowling on Tuesday and Friday, and movies on Thursday.

WBKB, ABC's affiliate, does not have a 10 p.m. newscast; instead, we get various half-hour dramas and sitcoms at 10:00 and 10:30 (Monday through Thursday; Jim Moran hosts a local variety program from 10 to 11 on Friday. That's followed by five minutes of news, five minutes of weather, Tom Duggan's talk show at 11:10 (said to be "the first all-talk show to appear on television"), and the midnight movie.

Finally, there's independent WGN in its pre-superstation days; they lead off with a movie at 10 p.m., news and weather at 11:30, and various paid programming at 11:50, probably leading up to midnight.

Little did we know what was in store for television history the following Monday, September 27: the NBC debut of Steve Allen's Tonight. After that, late night television would never be the same.

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The college football season kicks off Saturday with a showdown between two of the nation's top programs, as Oklahoma, ranked number 1 in the preseason polls, travels to Berkeley to take on number 3 California. (3:30 p.m., ABC) Oklahoma is in the midst of their historic 47-game winning streak, which began in October 1953 and runs until November, 1957; needless to say, they come out on top today, 27-13. (By contrast, the 2024 college football season began on August 24.)

If you're looking for the professional version of the game on Sunday, you're not going to find it; the NFL doesn't start for another week. (As a matter of fact, the only pro football this week is north of the border, with NBC's Canadian football game of the week at 12:45 p.m. on Saturday.) Fear not; there's still plenty to choose from, beginning with the debut of Art Linkletter's People Are Funny ► (6:00 p.m., NBC); the radio version first aired in 1942, and the show would run on both TV and radio until 1960. On Toast of the Town (7:00 p.m., CBS), Ed Sullivan salutes the U.S. Navy with performers who are all naval personnel; previous shows had featured the Army and Air Force.

Monday night gives us one of the major dramas of the Golden Age, Reginald Rose's "Twelve Angry Men" on Studio One (9:00 p.m., CBS). Most people are probably more familiar with the 1957 movie version with Henry Fonda, but Rose originally wrote the story for television, later expanding it into a stage play and eventually a theatrical feature (as was common in the heydays of the dramatic anthology). Both versions are terrific, but I have a soft spot for the original, which stars Bob Cummings as the lone holdout trying to convince his fellow jurors of a defendant's innocence. Cummings is very good in the role, hesitant and nervous at first, but increasingly confident and persuasive as he goes on; it provides an interesting contrast with Fonda's regular, virtuous self (you have to wonder if he was acting at all), and it's good enough to win Cummings an Emmy for Best Actor. You can see it for yourself here.

Tuesday sees the season premiere of Milton Berle's Buick-Berle Show (7:00 p.m., NBC), with special guest star Mickey Rooney. Berle is still Mr. Television, but he's not the same Berle he was in the Texaco Star Theater days, presenting a more restrained and polished persona (you can read about that here) that never really caught on with his longtime fans. His ratings take a dramatic hit, dropping from #5 to #11 nationally (his first time being out of the top ten); next season Buick will drop its sponsorship, and by the end of that season the Berle show will be history.  

Things are somewhat up in the air on Wednesday; the feature attraction was to have been world lightweight champion Paddy DeMarco defending his title against Jimmy Carter (9:00 p.m., CBS), but after this issue went to press, the fight was postponed until November. As an alternative, you can catch Elizabeth Montogmery in "The Light is Cold" on Kraft Theatre (8:00 p.m., NBC), and stick with the Peacock Network for a rerun of This Is Your Life at 9:00, with Martha Raye as the honoree. 

Thursday stars off with Groucho Marx and You Bet Your Life (7:00 p.m., NBC), and continues with Four Star Playhouse (7:30 p.m., CBS), starring Dick Powell as a weary police detective who arrives home after a day in which he was forced to shoot a suspect; later in the evening, he discovers someone has stolen his gun. At 8:00 p.m. it's Dragnet (NBC), with Friday discovering that a robbery suspect is an old Army friend. Ford Theater (the show, not the building) returns at 8:30, with Robert Stack starring in "Ever Since the Day," the story of an Army vet who returns from Korea but has difficulty adjusting to civilian life, and at 9:00 it's The Lone Wolf (WGN), a sneaky-good syndicated series that's kind of an American version of The Saint, with Louis Hayward very good as jewel thief-turned-private detective Michael Lanyard. Prime time ends as it began, with a quiz show: Bill Cullen hosting Name That Tune. (9:30 p.m., CBS)

I always enjoy checking in with Edward R. Murrow's Person to Person, which airs Friday at 9:30 p.m. on CBS; it's a useful barometer for telling what celebrities are hot, and what stories are in the headlines. This week, the celebrity guest is actress Eva Marie Saint; later, Murrow visits the Washington, D.C. home of Agriculture Secretary Ezra Taft Benson. One guest you won't see with Ed is the notorious Keefe Brasselle, "popular young star of The Eddie Cantor Story," who hosts a variety special on NBC at 7:30 p.m.

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There's a show called The Telltale Clue that's the subject of this week's review by Dan Jenkins. You might not have heard of it before; it debuted on July 18 and airs the last of its 13 episodes this Thursday. I can't tell whether it was ever intended to serve as anything other than a summer filler, but if it was, judging by Jenkins' review, it failed the test. 

The series stars Anthony Ross as homicide captain Richard Hale, and the gimmick is the use of forensic evidence to solve otherwise perfect crimes. The telltale clue is introduced at some point during the show, "which the viewer is invited to dig out for himself during the commercial before the denouement." Ross plays Hale with an intensity that, Jenkins says, threatens to create "a certain amount of sympathy for the villain," one of the elements I most dislike in modern police procedurals. As Jenkins points out, "Sympathy for the villain, of course, is prohibited by law." His verdict on The Telltale Clue: "uninspired stuff, filling one of those half hours that might be better spent reading a good book." There are a couple of episodes on YouTube; you can check this one out and see what you think.

Jenkins' other review this week is of anothet series with which you may not be familiar, So You Want to Lead a Band?, which premiered in 1950 and ran, mostly during the summer, through 1955, with a revival from September 1958 to June 1959. It's hosted by bandleader Sammy Kaye, and the premise is right there in the title for everyone to see: amateurs from the studio audience are given the chance to conduct Kaye's band; at the end of the show, the audience then votes on the winner. 

Jenkins sees the show, correctly, as an anachronism, "reflecting the taste of another era and lacking the pace and polish of today’s more breathless efforts." Considering that much the same can be said when comparing the shows of the 1950s to today's output, it must really have poked along. Professional singers, such as Betty Clooney (Rosemary's sister) are brought in occasionally to provide a little more entertainment value, but, as Jenkins notes, the show's success over the years proves there must be something to the sight of a layman "waving a baton in front of a band," but whatever it is, "it has entirely escaped this reviewer's notice."

I mention these two shows not so much to get your opinion on them as to demonstrate just how many programs there are out there that have completely escaped our attention. It's reasonable to have heard of "swing and sway" Sammy Kaye; less so to be familiar with So You Want to Lead a Band? And the fact that there are actually surviving episodes of The Telltall Clue, when episodes of other, better-known, series have vanished from existence is, if not impressive, at least unlikely. The history of television is a big topic; we've probably lost much more than we've saved.

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It is reported that the "most widely circulated TV show in the world" is the half-hour drama series This Is the Life, produced by the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod, and if you've spent any time with these ancient TV Guide issues, you won't be surprised by the news. I don't think I've ever read through an issue that didn't have This Is the Life playing in at least one market, and frequently more than one. I'll bet you've seen it a time or two yourself.

This Is the Life is one of a number of similar religious programs—Insight and Crossroads are two others you might be familiar with—that use television to, in the words of the show's creator, pastor Herman Gockel, "reach the non-religious audience, people who wouldn’t tune in if they thought they were going to get nothing but religion." The show is centered around the Fisher family, a typical Lutheran family living in the Midwest, and the everyday problems confronted by them or those passing through their orbit. "We set up a problem, a conflict,” Gockel says, “which can only be resolved by the application of one Christian precept or another." The first ten or fifteen minutes are purely dramatic; once the audience is hooked, it's time for the pitch, usually delivered by the patriarch of the family, Grampa Fisher. Th pitch itself is not specifically Lutheran, but based on Christian precepts.

The series, which began in 1952, is provided free of charge to any station that wants it, and plenty do: it is currently seen by an audience of 20 million on 225 stations in the United States, plus those in Canada and Great Britain. Station managers report that the series generates a "phenomenal" amount of mail, most of it asking for help or advice; every letter is answered by the Missouri Synod. "We do get converts, but we look upon them as a pleasant by-product of the show. A bonus, you might say." An additional bonus: an impressive number of current and future stars who appear on the show.

In 1956, the show's format is changed to eliminate the Fisher family; the show remains set in "Middleburg," and the only regular is Pastor Martin, who ministered to the Fishers when the show began; this format will remain until the show ends production in 1988, dealing with issues that weren't even on the horizon when it began. Of course, you can catch some episodes on YouTube. 

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MST3K alert: The Mad Monster (1942) A mad scientist, ousted from his university, develops a method for transplanting the blood of a wolf into that of a man. Johnny Downs, George Zucco, Anne Neagle, and Glenn Strange. (Thursday, 1:00 p.m., WGN) OK, this is a really bad movie; it makes it to MST3K on merit. We do have the consolation of another episode of Radar Men from the Moon, however. And don't feel too sorry for Glenn Strange as Petro, the monster: he'll go on to play Sam, the bartender of the Long Branch Saloon, in 222 episodes from 1961 to 1973. Now that calls for a drink! TV