This week in TV Guide: January 6, 1962

t's t's once again the start of a new year: 2025 if you're reading this today, 1962 if you were reading it in real time. I like to think of these TV Guide articles as cultural snapshots, giving us a look at what things were like at a given point in time, and if you want to know what was hot at the beginning of 1962, here it is: the Twist. 

The Twist is something of a scandal in the world of dance, as indicated by the headline of this unbylined article, in which Dick Clark and Chubby Checker are referred to as the "culprits" responsible for the Twist's popularity, "and, worse, they seem happy about it all." It was nearly two years ago that the dance, described as a "spine-torturing, dervishlike tribal rite," first began to appear on Clark's American Bandstand, piquing the curiosity of the host. "I'm always watching for new things," Clark explains, "and I asked [the kids] what it was. 'The Twist,' they said. So I looked it up and found Hank Ballard had a record out called 'The Twist.' " Clark decided to import it from Ballard's nightclub act, and recruited a young singer named Chubby Checker to cut a remake of it. It caught on, in Clark's words, "like blue jeans and chino pants," and soon was being danced everywhere from high schools to country clubs, even bar mitzvahs. 

And, with the help of Atlantic Records president Ahmet Ertegun, who introduced a few of his society friends to the dance, it soon spread to the adult set. Next thing anyone knew, there was a "Twist Party" at the posh Manhattan nightspot Four Seasons, and everyone from the Duke and Duchess of Bedford to Elsa Maxwell, Merle Oberon, and Greta Garbo, have been twisting away. "I could pontificate around like the brain boys who've been taking pen in hand over this thing," says Clark, "talk about inhibitions, release of cold-war tensions and all that jazz. But I think it's mostly that adults are beginning to find out how much fun the kids are having." 

Despite its looks, it's actually not a particularly difficult dance to perform, as you can see in the pictures of Chubby (like Fats Domino, "only not so fat") demonstrating the moves, "a twisting of the hips to a rock 'n' roll beat." Notwithstanding that, I'd wind up in traction if I tried to do it, but then sitting at a keyboard doesn't call for much in the way of twisting. As for where it all ends, Clark says that it actually peaked about a year ago, and now is actually staging a revival in the wake of the Bop, the Slop, the Chop, the Mashed Potatoes, and other dances that sound like it came from your local Golden Corral. The always-astute Clark, however, thinks it may have a longer lifespan than usual. "The kids discard such dance fads quickly, but I'm inclined to think the adults won't." 

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One of Cleveland Amorys most anticipated columns of the year was the one in which the reader had his say, praising—or, as is more often the case, excoriating—the critic's opinions throughout the past year. Although we don't have Cleve to kick around yet, we do have Gilbert Seldes, and this week he opens up the mailbag to see what you, the viewer, thought of his views. 

Most of the letters he receives begin by asking him to "shut up" and conclude with "We like the show and we don't care what you think!" These, Seldes says, are the letters he most appreciates. One of America's greatest attributes is that it's a free country, "and the editors of TV Guide have made use of their freedom to give me the freedom to say what I think." This, he acknowledges, may have been a mistake, and he's the first to admit that he's commited a mistake or two (or three) himself. But what is beyond any doubt is that he's free to make such mistakes. What is also beyond doubt is that, no matter what he says about whatever program he may be reviewing, he'll get ten letters from people who disagree with him. But when it comes to being a critic, there's one simple fact: "No matter what program you like, there are two or three times as many peole who like something else better." Furthermore, "[t]here are probably 40 million people, not professional critics, who don't particularly like the program you are crazy about." And their letters "give me exactly the same kind of pain I give the readers of this page at times." 

But before we turn this into some kind of Barneyesque "I don't like you, you don't like me" moment, Seldes gets to the point: "one of the most agreeable aspects of our freedom comes in the letters readers write to me, telling me to keep my trap shut." After all, if he's free to tell us what he thinks, it's only fair that we have the same opportunity. One of the problems we face in America these days is that we're really not free to disagree with each other anymore, because our disagreements get so disagreeable. We don't take them as an opportunity to teach each other, or to learn from each other. We view disagreement as chance to prove our superiority versus someone else's inferiority. And let's be honest: where's the fun in that? There isn't any, which is part of what makes modern culture just as disagreeable as our own disagreements. That is what Gilbert Seldes is really writing about here, from a past that was far more open to discussion than ours is. Whereas we are, today, too prone to think that opinions other than ours should be silenced, Seldes thinks just the opposite. To those who say he should keep his "trap shut," his response is a simple one: "I won't." But, he adds, "I'm glad they don't."

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And now, here's something I think we can all agree on: that Suzanne Pleshette, according to Troy Donahue, sets "bells ringing." Not only is she a dark-haired beauty of smoldering good looks, she's a very talented actress who throws herself into her work with enthusiasm, and gets nervous when she isn't working. "Luckily I've had only 10 days off since I started four years ago."

She's worked with the likes of old-time stars Victor Jory, Mary Astor, and Mildred Dunnock on anthologies such as Playhouse 90. ("I've never done a TV show I didn't like.") She's worked with Roddy McDowall, Eli Wallach and Tom Poston on Broadway. And she's now making her way into movies, having appeared in The Geisha Boy with Jerry Lewis, and Rome Adventure with Angie Dickinson and the aforementioned Troy Donahue (whom she'll marry and divorce in 1964). As if that weren't enough, she's working on writing a novel; I don't know if it was ever published, although she did write several screenplays under a pseudonym. No wonder she's considered a "non-conformist" and "secret thinker" in Hollywood.

I would have included this brief feature on her regardless, but considering what we previously noted in Gil Seldes' review, I think this quote from a 2006 interview Pleshette gave with the Television Academy is quite prescient: "We're losing manners. We're losing style. We're losing kindness. A lot of it is happening as a result of the television we're doing and the characters we're willing to play that reflect a piece of human nature. But it's done over and over because it gets laughs or because it's dramatically interesting. What's the actor's obligation to make the world a better place?" What, indeed?

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The NFL season ended last weekend, with the Green Bay Packers defeating the New York Giants on New Year's Eve, but that doesn't quite mean that we're done with football. On Saturday, we have one of the most pointless, unimportant games ever thought up by the NFL: the Play Off Bowl (1:45 p.m., CBS), pitting the second-place teams from the East and West. Granted, the purpose of the game was to raise money for the players' pension fund, so it served a charitable purpose, but what football player wants to put his health on the line in a game that was originally called the Runner-Up Bowl? At that, the game was played for ten years, from 1961 to 1970, at the Orange Bowl in Miami. Today's contestants are the Philadelphia Eagles and Detroit Lions, with the Lions winning 38-10. They hold the dubious record of having won the first three Play Off Bowls, meaning they were always a bridesmaid, never a bride. On Sunday, the AFL engages in a similarly meaningless game, the inaugural All-Star Game, live from San Diego (3:30 p.m., ABC), with the West All-Stars coming out on top of the East, 47-27.

We've also got a couple of college all-star games on-hand, games that were more important back in the days before specialized scouting and ad nauseam bowl games, because they provided an opportunity for college players to display their talents to viewers and scouts alike. On Saturday, North and South stars face-off in the Senior Bowl from Mobile, Alabama (3:00 p.m., NBC). For the players participating, it's their first "professional" game, as the winners receive $600 each, the losers $500. Of course, that isn't even meal money for these guys today, more credit to them. Sunday sees a game that even I'd never heard of, played (to the best of my knowledge) only once: the U.S. Bowl (2:00 p.m., NBC), with the players drafted by East Division NFL teams playing against those drafted by West Division NFL teams. Yes, back then the draft was held right at the end of the season, rather than being held over until April the way it is today. 

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There's a strong whiff of nostalgia in this week's issue, and not just because we're looking back at it from the perspective of 63 years. On Sunday night, the DuPont Show of the Month presents "Hollywood—My Home Town" (10:00 p.m., NBC), a one-hour documentary based on the famous 16mm home movie collection taken by vaudeville comedian Ken Murray, who in 1927 began documenting his Hollywood experiences, and I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that virtually everyone who was anyone showed up in Murray's movies, often in candid moments, including W.C. Fields, Will Rogers, Leslie Howard, Carole Lombard, Jack Lemmon, Douglas Fairbanks Sr., Mary Pickford, Errol Flynn, Gary Cooper, Bing Crosby, Elizabeth Taylor, Bob Hope, Glenn Ford, and others. If Hollywood had a scrapbook, this would be it.

That's followed on Friday by "The Good Years" (8:30 p.m., CBS), a 90-minute Westinghouse Presents variety special based on the very good book by historian Walter Lord, author of the definitive Titanic book A Night to Remember. Covering the years 1900-1914, the show, produced by Leland Hayward and directed by Franklin Schaffner, features Henry Fonda, Lucille Ball, and Mort Sahl using skits, songs, recreations, photograps, and cartoons to review the major events of the day. And there were plenty of significant events over those 14 years, from the Wright Brothers at Kitty Hawk to Teddy Roosevelt becoming president, with figures such as Einstein, Freud, and Lenin thrown in. (As you can see, one of the events that occurred was the adoption of the income tax, which just proves that the word "Good" can be relative.) As remarkable as these two programs are, what might be even more remarkable is that both of them still exist, and can be viewed at those YouTube links. Interesting that while the shows presented a nostalgic look-back in 1962, they themselves are nostalgia for us today.

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Contrasting articles on two of television's stars, Vincent Edwards and Michael Landon. At age 25, Landon, according to our unbylined profile, has what one producer called "the most highly intuitive set of natural acting responses I've seen in a young actor." He's seen laughing and joking on the Bonanza set, seemingly unconcerned about an upcoming, highly-charged death scene, only to transform himself as the camera rolls, becoming so involved in the scene that genuine tears roll down his cheeks, and leaving his co-stars too shaken to speak. After a moment to regain his composure, he's off again, with a reference to the deceased character's love life that was "so irreverent, so hilarious (and so unprintable) that they are still talking about it around Paramount studios."

On the other hand we have Vince Edwards, star of ABC's first-year medical series Ben Casey, described by Bobby Darin as "a combination of Charlton Heston and Burt Lancaster." He's a man who, in Robert de Roos's cover story, is absolutely "dedicated" to his work. "I couldn't have stuck to it for 12 years unless I had the same sort of fanaticism Ben Casey has for medicine." Unlike Landon, who seems to be able to turn it on whenever required, Edwards often mirrors the intense, almost surly demeanor of his character. Says co-star Nick Dennis of the similarities between actor and role, "They're both educated peasants, Casey and Vince Edwards. That's the most dangerous kind."

Away from work, Landon raises tropical fish, loves DIY projects, and adores his family. "Acting?" he says. "Sure. I can still get hold of those emotions when I need 'em. But I also like the financial security. Just say I have the family I always loved and wanted." Edwards is a "nut" about many things, from flying ("I used to fly my own plane" but gave it up because of his responsibilities on the show) to sports, working out, and "any kind of excitement," but rarely has time due to the intense filming schedule of Casey; unlike Landon, who is just one member of an ensemble cast, Edwrds is in every scene, every day. "It's a grind, but I've waited for it and I like it." 

It's so interesting looking at the two men in retrospect. There were other things that Edwards was a "nut" about, including his addiction to gambling, which caused him to gain a reputation as "one of the most difficult stars now working on television." leading co-star Sam Jaffe to leave the series, fed up with Edwards' distractions. He makes another attempt at series television after Casey ends, but Matt Lincoln fails to make it past its first season.

And Landon, the dedicated family man, will divorce his wife Dodie later in 1962, and marries twice more before his death in 1991. He, too, gains a reputation for being strong-willed, both on- and off-set. However, unlike Edwards, Landon's television career seems to go from one hit to another: Bonanza to Little House on the Prairie to Highway to Heaven.

All of this is in the future, however. For now, Vincent Edwards and Michael Landon remain two young stars of tremendous talent, with varying reputations that somewhat belie their real lives. But after all, Hollywood is a place of dreams, where reality often takes a back seat. And as someone once said, if sin showed on a man's face, there would be no mirrors. TV