This week in TV Guide: April 24, 1971

If you're like me, you probably gave up watching the news years ago. I mean, I already take medication to keep from getting depressed; the last thing I need is to go out there and intentionally find something that makes me even more depressed. But, you say, what if there was a happy news program out there, one that made you smile even through the worst of the news? Well, if that's what you're looking for, than New York's WABC has the answer.

Don't believe me? Here's a letter from a couple in White Plains, New York: "Here we are watching our favorite comedy program: Eyewitness News really knows how to make the news bearable. We're crying on the inside and laughing on the outside. Right on!" It's not, as Richard K. Doan points out, that the station ignores the bad news; they still cover "the rape, riot and revolution" of the day. They take what they do seriously; it's how they do it that brings smiles to viewers. Eyewitness News co-anchors Roger Grimsby and Bill Beutel lead the way; one night, Grimsby, having reported that striking cab drivers believed he had treated the news of their strike "too lightly," dryly remarked, "I'm not going to step off the curb when I hail a cab." And then there was the time when reporter Melba Tolliver signed off from a story from McSorley's Bar, as the camera panned to an outside view of a painting of "a voluptuous nude hanging on the wall." Cracked Beutel, "Didn't look much like Melba." And then there was the time that sports reporter Howard Cosell was introduced as the president of the Howard Cosell Fan Club.

Granted, from our perspective it may be pretty easy to keep a straight face in response to this banter, but there's no question that this does signal a shift from the traditional stern-faced, all-business news anchors we all know and love. As Doan points out, while there's no shortage of bad news on Eyewitness News, the fact of the matter is that most of the news is not about the war, inflation, drugs, hippies, and other ulcer-inducing stories; instead, the station bears down on "old-fashioned" bad news: robberies, muggings, stabbings, fires, and the like. It's tabloid news for a tabloid city, and it's helped catapult WABC into first place in New York City's ratings race. And the newscasters at Channel 7 are just one happy family, engaging in harmless kidding around between themselves. 

And that might be another reason why we don't see anything so remarkable in this today: we're used to it. Probably every news market in America runs commercials showing their personalities parading around the city in staged group shots, while they act like the best of workplace friends in front of the camera. At least in Minneapolis-St. Paul, where I grew up, the news, weather, and sports anchors didn't even share the same desk until the late 1960s; typically, when the news finished there'd be a commercial break, after which you'd return to see the sports anchor occupying the desk, and likewise with the weather. In most of our 1960s TV Guides, the three segments of the broadcast are listed as three separate programs. If this was your typical view of the news, even the concept of having everyone together would be a development; the byplay between them would add to the family atmosphere. 

But is this jocularity good for the news? Not everyone likes this approach; Time called the Eyewitness News crew "a happy-go-lucky bunch of banana men," and Marvin Kitman of Newsday described the broadcast as having "the flavor of a cocktail party a stranger has just wandered into. It is not good journalism." On the other hand, Kitman also suggested they should probably "win a prize for honesty," and Columbia University's William Wood suggested that this approach was a vast improvement over "the funeral, almost pompous" way people were accustomed to receiving the news. WABC's general manager, Kenneth MacQueen, isn't complaining about the station's increase in revenues, and defends the approach: "I don't think 'happy news' describes it. It's just humanistic," and Richard O'Leary, president of ABC's O&O stations, has expanded the approach to its stations in Detroit, Chicago, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. "People want somebody to reassure them," O'Leary says in explanation of the format's success, "so they can take their fingernails out of their palms and go to sleep at night." 

Naturally, success breeds imitation, and it won't be long before some form of this, whatever you want to call it, is the rule rather than the exception for local news. I'd go so far as to suggest that this is just the way news is nowadays everywhere, including networks and cablecasts. I'm not against it in principle; what I think we need more of in the industry today is actual journalistic reporting by people with at least a modicum of talent, and comedy is no replacement for gravitas. Just give me the damn news, and once you've established that you can handle it, then if you want to kid around a bit, you can. But remember, this isn't an evening at the improv. People didn't watch Cronkite because he acted like their best friend or empathized with them; they watched him because they trusted him. That's what we need more of today.

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From 1963 to 1976, TV Guide's weekly reviews were written by the witty and acerbic Cleveland Amory. Whenever they appear, we'll look at Cleve's latest take on the shows of the era. 

If you were left in any doubt as to what Cleveland Amory thinks of CBS's daytime drama Love is a Many Splendored Thing, then his conclusion should remove any question. To the tune of the song of the same name: 

     Once on a high and windy hill

     In the morning mist

     Two lovers kissed

     And the plot stood still

Well, I suppose you could say that about any soap opera, but it seems particularly appropriate in this case, for as Cleve says, nothing ever really happens on this show. "One day, for example, there was some really wild action—a phone call. Of course it didn't happen right away. Nothing ever happens right away on a show like this." He goes on to recount how they talked about the call on Monday. On Tuesday, they discussed the arguments for and against making the call. He skipped Wednesday, but he didn't miss anything, for on Thursday they finally made the call. And on Friday, they talked about why they made it. Fortunately, the weekend came along, and a break from watching. Which was a good thing, because "There is no man living who could do it every day. It is, for a mere male, too emotionally exciting."

Lest you think this is the only thing from which this show suffers, there's more. The series, Amory says, takes place around a hospital and a research foundation. "Which, we guess, is supposed to give it all a kind of nobility. One thing is certain—the characters don't. They are as shoddy a bunch as you would care to come across in this show or the next." There's so much misery, deceit, infertility, infidelity, and other things that it should be called a mope opera. And what else can one do should you find yourself in a situation like this but talk about. And talk. "All the characters, apparently on the theory they are just on radio, do nothing but talk." And, of course, fall in and out of that splendored thing called love. What amazes me is that Love is a Many Splendored Thing had already been on the air for four years at this point, and it has another couple to go before it's done. But if you're anything like Cleveland Amory, you're probably already done much sooner than that.

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After something like that, you have to admit, what's called for is something to cleanse the palette. To accomplish this goal, we turn to Dick Hobson's look at the success of The Beverly Hillbillies, and the man behind it all, Paul Henning. 

We've written admiringly about Hillbillies before in this space, particularly Malcolm Muggeridge's insightful article about what the series really represents ("an innocence which triumphantly survives the possession of riches."), but I didn't realize until this moment that it has also played a role in "sanitizing sociocultural stereotypes." Yet, according to Al Simon, Columbia University English major turned situation-comedy entrepreneur, that's just what the show has accomplished. "Before The Beverly Hillbillies went on the air nine years ago, the word 'hillbillies' brought to mind the picture of dirty, unkempt people wearing long beards, inhabiting dilapidated shacks with outhosues out back. As a result of our show, the word has a new meaning all over America. Now, it denotes charming, delightful, wonderful, clean, wholesome people." 

All this is something of a mystery to Henning, who was merely looking to produce a show that made people laugh. According to his colleague and collaborator, Dick Wesson, "Paul writes the show to be thigh-slapping funny. So many half-hour shows have those little warm moments of domestic heart-tug and homespun sentimentality. Paul doesn't do that. He writes the how to make you laugh, to really get to your belly." 

One proof of the show's success is a $15 million suit filed by a CBS cameraman who claimed that Hillbillies pirated the concept of his presentation for a show, "Country Cousin," featuring a rustic farmer who visits his city-slicker New York relatives. The trial ended in a hung jury, and a new trial has been ordered, but the experience shook Henning up. "It was like walking down the street with your 4-year-old child by the hand and a stranger comes along and says, 'Hey, that's my child!' " Indeed, Hillbillies is Henning's baby through and through: parts of Granny's character come from his mother, while Elly May was based on daughter Linda. Henning himself has written or co-written 247 of thr 274 episodes made to date. And Henning supervises "every detail of production down to the last titter and snort on the laugh track." 

Henning with Granny (Irene Ryan)

It only took five weeks for Hillbillies to reach #1 in the ratings, and the list of shows who've tried and failed to go against it is an impressive one: The Perry Como Show, Going My Way, Ben Casey, Espionage, Shindig, Gidget, Blue Light, and The Second Hundred Years. It's given credit for saving The Dick Van Dyke Show from cancelation; during its second season, Van Dyke was moved to a time slot immediately following Hillbillies and "inherited enough of an audience to prosper." 

This shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone familiar with Henning's track record in sitcoms; prior to Hillbillies, he'd had a five-season success with The Bob Cummings Show. He's what is known as a "pressure writer," with the deadline bringing out the best in him. He also suffers through every line. "You apply yourself and work hard," he says. "It's simply a weekly grind." He derives great pleasure from Hillbillies, especially when he and Hobson put things in the script that they know won't get past the censors, such as a reducing farm with the motto "Leave your fat behind in Phoenix." The censor, surprisingly, didn't have a problem with that joke other than a request to change the locale to avoid sounding like a commercial for the Elizabeth Arden reducing farm in Phoenix. Even so, they didn't use the joke. "We never had any intention of using it because it just might have offended somebody. We're not writing deathless prose. It's just a line. It's something you grind out like sausage." Although, as Hobson concludes, "no sausage machine takes home $45,000 a week."

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Repeats are plentiful this week; we're advised that some of these episodes are among the best of the season, and we're in no position to disagree. We get started. however, with a first-run special debuting Saturday morning, NBC Children's Theatre's "The Sounds of Children" (9:00 a.m.), which was taped last December at the White House Conference on Children. The hour-long special is performed entirely by children, and includes song, dance, and musical performances, hosted by the Ritts Puppets, and featuring an appearance by First Daughter Julie Nixon Eisenhower. Finishing off Saturday morning, Dick Clark returns to Philadelphia for an American Bandstand reunion with some of the show's former dancers; Chuck Berry is among the musical guests (Noon, ABC).

Sunday features reruns of the full-hour Honeymooners episodes from The Jackie Gleason Show (9:00 p.m., CBS), and this week sees Ralph (Gleason) obsessed with entering contests after his in-laws won a free trip around the world. That's up against a "Lawyers" segment of The Bold Ones (9:00 p.m., NBC) that sees Walt Nichols (Burl Ives) defending a Vietnam vet-turned-hippie who's accused of having killed his best friend.

Plimpton and The Duke

On Monday, George Plimpton—"America's professional amateur," as he's billed—makes his movie debut in "Plimpton! Shoot-Out at Rio Lobo" (8:00 p.m., ABC), a behind-the-scenes look at his experience playing a crooked deputy in the John Wayne movie Rio Lobo. Plimpton is probably most famous for Paper Lion, his exploits in a training camp with the Detroit Lions, but he did a series of specials like this one, and they're all pretty entertaining, although none of them compare to seeing him try to impersonate a professional quarterback. If you like George here, you'll probably want to switch over to Book Beat (9:00 p.m., PBS), where he discusses his book American Journey—The Times of Robert Kennedy with host Bob Cromie. But that's only if you've already seen the original run of tonight's Carol Burnett Show (9:00 p.m., CBS), with Carol and her special guest, Rita Hayworth. 

Tuesday gives us a couple of reruns worth watching; unfortunately, they're on at the same time, so hopefully you saw one of them previously. The aforementioned Beverly Hillbillies run into con man Shifty Shafer, played by Phil Silvers, in tonight's episode from Washington, D.C. (6:30 p.m., CBS), while Peter Ustinov stars in Hallmark Hall of Fame's "A Storm in Summer" (6:30 p.m., NBC), written by Rod Serling, and co-starring Ivan Dixon's son N'Gai as an urban youth spending his summer in upstate New York. Both Ustinov and Serling won Emmys.

Wednesday's episode of The Men From Shiloh, which you and I know and love as The Virginian (6:30 p.m., NBC), features James Drury's Virginian, accused of murder, in a hunt for the real killer. The real attraction here is the guest cast, which is exceptional even for a 90-minute series: Joseph Cotten, Brandon deWilde, Monte Markham, Sallie Shockley, Anne Francis, Rod Cameron, Agnes Moorehead, Neville Brand, and John Smith. As if that isn't enough star wattage, hang around for Kraft Music Hall (8:00 p.m., NBC), with host Alan King, who's joined by guests Lena Horne, Charles Nelson Reilly, and Stiller and Meara. 

Thursday is a night for variety shows, with Flip Wilson leading things off at 6:30 p.m. (NBC), featuring Roger Miller, the Temptations, Lily Tomlin, and Redd Foxx. At 7:00 p.m., it's The Jim Nabors Hour (CBS), with guest Barbara McNair in a spoof of Cinderella that sees Jim playing a traveling shoe salesman who's mistaken for Prince Charming. And to round out the evening, it's The Dean Martin Show (9:00 p.m., NBC), with guests Engelbert Humperdinck, Dom DeLuise, Jackie Vernon, and Pat Crowley. For variety of a different sort, the late movie tonight is the controversial Lolita (10:30 p.m., KTVI), with James Mason, Shelley Winters, and Sue Lyon.

You'll have to stay up late for Friday's best, but it'll be worth it: a rerun of Dick Cavett's 90-minute interview with Fred Astaire (12:15 a.m., ABC). The show includes clips from some of Astaire's most famous movies, Fred discussing his dancing partners, and the highlight, in which Dick cajoles Fred into doing a little dancing right there. I've long complained about the quality of today's late night shows, but I don't think anyone will disagree with me that there's nobody in television today who'd be capable of doing 90 minutes with a single guest; Cavett was terrific at it.

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Since we began with a story from Richard K. Doan, we'll conclude with The Doan Report, and it was probably inevitable that the ratings race would get to the point where programs were in trouble before they even debuted. Programming consultant Herb Jacobs, looking at factors from star appeal to scheduling, is predicting that Shirley's World, starring Shirley MacLaine in a sitcom about a globetrotting photographer, and The Man and the City, with Anthony Quinn as a big-city mayor, will both bomb, while The Funny Side and The Chicago Teddy Bears are a "disaster area." As it happens, he's right about all four of them; what he gets wrong are the shows he predicts as hits, including Sandy Duncan's Funny Face, James Garner's Nichols, and Jimmy Stewart's Family Plan, which actually aired as The Jimmy Stewart Show; none of them see the promise of a second season, although in the case of Funny Face it was due mostly to Duncan's surgery for a brain tumor. Now, if they could only get to the point where some of these shows are cancelled before anyone even thinks of them. . . TV