This week in TV Guide: February 8, 1969

For media analysts, the 1968 Democratic Convention is the gift that keeps on giving. I know a lot of you are probably tired of me writing about it as often as I do, but I don't generally go looking for it; it comes to me. And TV Guide has written about it at least as often as everyone else. It is, in fact, a seminal event when it comes to looking at how the news media presented events, how it became a participant in those events, and the public's perception of those events.

In this first of a four-part series, Neil Hickey looks at the decisive questions raised by last year's convention: "How well did the networks discharge their responsibilities? Was coverage slanted? Were viewers fully and fairly informed? Did many of them deliberately refuse to believe their eyes?" The issue, Hickey says, "appears destined neither to die nor fade away, but to linger in some morose corner of the public mind for generations to come."  The answer will influence the future course of television news coverage."  

What is truly remarkable about this preamble to the series is how these questions about the media are not only still being asked today but also appear to arise with greater frequency, greater intensity, and greater scope. If news coverage of the convention raised eyebrows back then—if viewers truly were shocked by what had hitherto been, in Hickey's words, a "20-year romance which television has enjoyed with American families" that had achieved iconic status with the coverage of President Kennedy's assassination—then today, many of these accusations are simply assumed as a given by most viewers, who would claim that the media doesn't even make a token effort to hide their bias. 

Coverage of the convention—it's estimated that almost 90 percent of American households were tuned in to the events, and 92 percent of all television homes in the free world—makes this kind of discussion inevitable, one supposes. In an era when you still had to make an effort to write a letter—unlike today's social media instant-reaction environment—the three networks and the Federal Communications Commission were flooded with "tens of thousands of letters" complaining about the media's coverage. Among those complaints were that coverage was biased against President Johnson and Vice President Humphrey; that news footage focused on violent acts by the police against the protestorss "but never the provocation which led up to it"; that reports and anchors "engaged in too much editorializing (at the expense of straight news) without labeling it as such"; and that newsmen "were too generous and affectionate in their coverage of the hippies, Yippies and radical leftists who had come to Chicago with the announced purpose of disrupting the convention and creating havoc in the streets." One of the specific allegations was that the media inflated the number of protestors; in the weeks leading up to the convention, the news floated estimates of between 100,000 and one million, but "the best estimates now indicate that the demonstrators’ recruitment was an almost total flop, and that no more than 5000 of them came to the city from points outside Illinois."

And look at some of these comments: Columnist Jenkin Lloyd Jones wrote: "It should now be obvious that television, as it is now used, is the enemy, not the servant, of the political convention. It has become so, not out of malice, but because TV is a medium that prefers drama to uplift, and where both are present it will go for drama every time." Sen. Everett Dirksen (R-lll.), called it "an outrage against the democratic process" and "a clear and outrageous attempt at editorializing and bias." You can read variations of this quote pretty much any time you want today. 

In an extraordinary series of reports by Drew Pearson and Jack Anderson, the columnists claimed that a House Commerce Committe study confirmed that "some of the networks deliberately went out to slant the news; that TV directors purposefully photographed Vice President Humphrey and Mayor Daley in unflattering poses, even resorting to distorting the TV color; that speeches favorable to the Johnson regime were forsaken repeatedly by the cameras to focus on some dissident eager for publicity," and that the networks, "perhaps in their eagerness to generate high ratings for TV sponsors, encouraged dissidents to make inflammatory statements and helped to stir up controversies." This was far from a universal opinion, mind you; even some of the papers that ran the columns by Pearson and Anderson felt compelled to offer disclaimers about the content; the New York Post wrote that "The notion that the labors of conscientious TV men under fire were exploited in a network plot to discredit the Democrats is absurd." 

Since there are three other installments in the series, I haven't done an in-depth presentation of everything involved in Hickey's investigation; instead, I've pulled some quotes that point to the disturbing similarities between the era I'm writing about and that in which we live today. Perhaps someday I'll write about the entire series. But for now, I just want to look at this as, if you will, one of those "canary in the coal mine" moments, that also proves how the more things change, the more they stay the same. With only a little tweaking, most of what we see here could have been written today.

What I find interesting is that you'll often read comments, mostly by people lamenting the state of today's news coverage, pointing to the "classic" era of television news, the days of Cronkite, Huntley and Brinkley, and others, when the news was "fair and objective," as opposed to today's slanted opinions and outright bias. In fact, the argument we're having today is nothing new. It may have intensified, it may be more available to more people, making them more aware of the controversy. But to suggest that everything was fine and dandy back in "the good old days" is simply not true, and the borderline-obsessive coverage of Chicago proves that.

This all happened nearly sixty years ago; most Americans of today weren't born then, and many of those who were alive don't have a clear memory of it anymore. I do remember it well; I remember what a terrible time it was for everyone. If we look back on these as the "good old days," how much worse does that mean things are in our modern age? One of the most disturbing quotes I found in this article comes from columnist Max Lerner, who talked of "a kind of 'social dynamite' in the spreading suspicion among both liberals and conservatives that the wells of communication in the U.S. are poisoned." Can there be any better description of the state of America today? 

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During the 60s, the Ed Sullivan Show and The Hollywood Palace were the premier variety shows on television. Whenever they appear in TV Guide together, we'll match them up and see who has the best lineup.

Sullivan: Tentatively scheduled guests: Leslie Uggams; comic Bill Dana; singer Roslyn Kind, Barbra Streisand’s half-sister; Joan Rivers; Barbara Eden of I Dream of Jeannie; Peter Gennaro; and the acrobatic Schaller Brothers. (If there were any changes, they're not reflected in the episode guide.)

Palace: Robert Goulet’s guests: the Mills Brothers; Kay Thompson; singer Dusty Springfield; comics Hendra and Ullett, and Jack Wakefield; and Nina Logatsheva, low-wire ballerina from the Moscow State Circus.

You want singers? Sullivan has Leslie Uggams and Roslyn Kind; the Palace is hosted by a singer, Robert Goulet, and has the Mills Brothers, Kay Thompson, and Dusty Springfield. You want comics? Sullivan has Bill Dana and Joan Rivers, the Palace has Hendra and Ullet and Jack Wakefield. Sullivan has acrobats, the Palace has a low-wire ballerina. So what does all this prove? Well, the Mills Brothers are unbeatable, Dusty Springfield (singing "Son of a Preacher Man") is undeniable, and Mr. G himself is as smooth as they come. This week, Palace wins with a song in its heart.

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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.

Back in the day, you often heard it said that "there outta be a law." And Cleveland Amory has an idea for a perfect law: television should be prohibited from "laying its blood-stained hands on the classics—particularly on children’s classics." That includes NBC's new series, The New Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. "And make no mistake —which you already have if you've sat through an episode—this particular series is not content to murder just one classic." 

I think it's pretty clear where we're going from here, but it's our good fortune that our Cleve is leading the way, for the more he piles it on, the more entertaining he gets. Borrowing from Johnny Mercer's lyrics to Moon River, "Your Huckleberry friend who is waiting round the bend is only the take-off point here. Each program moves on from there to fire at will on "Don Quixote," "The Arabian Nights," "Gulliver's Travels," etc., etc.—until you end with a full-scale massacre. Watch it and we guarantee that your Huckleberry friend won’t have to wait at all. You too will be around the bend." (I don't normally quote at such length, but, unlike the series itself, this was simply too good to pass up.) You see, one of the conceits of this series is that episodes often involve Mark Twain's favorite characters in fanciful adventures that take place between the covers of other classics: "Huck of La Mancha," for example, in which Huck, Tom, and Becky find themselves rescuing Don Quixote and Sancho from Don Jose D'Indio, who is none other than—of course—Injun Joe. You might think that, well, at least this episode has good source material to work with; however, "it was really shocking to find that there was, in the concept and rendition of the character of Don Quixote, not one single whit of pathos, understanding or even point." Another episode takes our trio to the stories of the Arabian Knights: Ali Baba, Scheherazade, Sinbad. It takes them, and does nothing to them. In other words, the show is so much a product of today's values—"the self-centered, self-serving world the modern child today faces"—that it makes no attempt to present the values and morals that were integral parts of the original stories.

If you've never seen the show before (consider yourself fortunate), it blends live action and animation, not unlike Song of the South, although to much worse effect. In fact, Amory says, the animated characters are generally better actors. Of them, the best is Ted Cassidy, who voices Injun Joe. He appears in the prologue as a live character, then morphs into the animated villain of the story. Smart thinking, Lurch. Amory concludes at the beginning, with a look at that prologue. Speaking of Injun Joe, Huck says, "I had a funny feeling that we'd see him again." Says Cleve, "We had a feeling too—but it wasn’t funny."

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It is hard to imagine that there was a time, as late as 1969, when people had not heard of Stella Stevens. I say this not just as a normal, red-blooded American male with an appreciation for such things, but as a student of pop culture. She appeared with Elvis in Girls, Girls, Girls. She appeared with Jerry Lewis in The Nutty Professor. She appeared with Dean Martin in The Silencers. She appeared with Rosalind Russell in Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows. She appeared with a smile and nothing else as the January 1960 centerfold in Playboy. I rest my case.

And yet, as Joe McGinniss* writes this week, that's exactly where we are. "Stella Stevens has not really failed. It’s just that she has not succeeded," McGinniss writes. "She has worked hard at her career since moving West from Memphis in 1958. She has made lots and lots of movies. She has done some very good television work. Yet nobody knows who she is." You'll forgive me if I have trouble believing this, and yet, there it is. She is, by all accounts, "warm and sincere," besides which, as we've mentioned, she's a knockout. But she's "too versatile," the knock is, moving from comedy to drama, from the big screen to television, never quite landing the part that would make her a star. 

*The same Joe McGinniss who would later write non-fiction books such as The Selling of the President and Fatal Vision. 

She's overcome a lot to make it this far, including a marriage at age 15, a son (Andrew Stevens, who would go on to become an actor in his own right) at 16, a divorce at 17. And her career is far from being what one would consider a failure. She has, McGinniss says, "adjusted to worse things. She will be able to proceed quite nicely through her 30's without being on the covers of magazines." And she believes the best is still to come. "I feel like my career is just beginning,” she says. "I've put in my apprenticeship. Now people are finally beginning to realize that I’m serious and I'm good." A lot of people say that she's very good, "a genuine comedienne who can handle straight roles, too." 

You can only remember so many names, though, and there are a lot of them out there. They're getting younger all the time, too (Stella is all of 29, virtually over the hill), and her chances of hitting the jackpot diminish. And yet, all these years later, the name "Stella Stevens" has yet to be forgotten. She appeared on television almost constantly, appeared as a regular in Flamingo Road and Santa Barbara, and remained active up to 2010. As a 2012 article noted, she was, in the 1960s, "one of the most photographed women in the world." Apparently, some people had heard of her. Of her layouts in Playboy (three in all), she said, "If you've got ten million people seeing you in a layout like that ... and half of them remember the name 'Stella Stevens', they'll buy tickets for your movies."

Joe McGinniss was a very good writer, but maybe he didn't know everything. Otherwise, all I can say is that it's a sad commentary on American manhood.

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Here's a movie that definitely should have made it to Mystery Science Theater 3000: Billy the Kid vs. Dracula (Saturday, 9:00 a.m. PT, KTVU). I suppose it had something to do with rights, but listen to the description: "Billy discovers that his fiancee's uncle is a vampire." And it features John Carradine! What more can anyone ask for?

Sunday's highlight is the special Man and His Universe (7:00 p.m., ABC), a look at space exploration, specifically last December's flight of Apollo 8. "As earth's unrolled stunning blue-and-white carpet is_ across the screen, viewers hear from Apollo 8 heroes Frank Borman and James A. Lovell Jr.; Col. Edwin Aldrin Jr., named to this summer’s scheduled Apollo 11 moon-landing team; and Dr. Harrison H. (Jack) Schmitt, who plans to make geological studies on the moon." George C. Scott narrates the hour, which I really would like to have seen. I think the Paley Center has a copy of it; it might as well be on the moon. That's one of three specials that make Sunday night special, including a presentation of A Midsummer Night's Dream (9:00 p.m., CBS) by the Royal Shakespeare Company, with a cast including David Warner, Diana Rigg, Helen Mirren, Judi Dench, Ian Holm, and Ian Richardson. And NBC presents a rerun of last year's Fred Astaire special (10:00 p.m.), with Barrie Chase, Simon and Garfunkel, Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66, the Young-Holt Trio, Neal Hefti's orchestra and the Gordian Knot.

Twenty-four years before Schindler's List, Monday's installment of the ABC Evening News with Frank Reynolds (5:30 or 6:00 p.m. depending on the market) features a special report on Oskar Schindler: "Although he was a Nazi, Schindler saved 1300 Jews by having them transferred from death camps to his factory, and later gave them weapons so they could overcome Gestapo guards and escape to freedom." You don't often see a special report on the evening news that's featured in TV Guide, but as I recall, this is something that ABC did from time to time to try and boost their news by giving it a different feel. In primetime, Ella Fitzgerald is joined by Duke Ellington for an hour of music (7:30 p.m., KOVR), Davy Jones guests on a Valentine's celebration on Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In (8:00 p.m., NBC), and Carol Burnett is joined by a stellar lineup including Lucille Ball, Eddie Albert, and Nancy Wilson (10:00 p.m., CBS)

Speaking of guest stars, Jimmy Stewart makes a cameo appearance on Julia (Tuesday, 8:30 p.m., NBC), while James Earl Jones (currently starring in the Broadway production of "The Great White Hope") stars on N.Y.P.D. (9:30 p.m., ABC), a really fine half-hour police drama. And on The Tonight Show (11:30 p.m., NBC), Johnny's scheduled guests are Jack Benny, choreographer George Ballanchine (perhaps the premier classical choreographer of the time), ballet dancers Suzanne Farrell and Arthur Mitchell, and author and Discovery host Frank Buxton.

Wednesday is Lincoln's Birthday, which used to be a fairly big deal, at least back when I was in school, and Aaron Copland conducts the National Symphony in a Lincoln Day concert (8:30 p.m., NET), including one of Copland's most famous works, "Lincoln Portrait," narrated by Coretta Scott King, MLK's widow. Meantime, NBC repeats last year's highly acclaimed special with Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass (9:00 p.m.). The most interesting item on Tuesday, though, is what we didn't see: the never-aired second episode of ABC's infamous disaster Turn-On (scheduled for 8:30 p.m.), which would have featured as hosts Robert Culp and his wife, France Nuyen. 

As a sign of the times, I'm intrigued by this episode of I Dream of Jeannie (Thursday, 7:00 p.m., KHSL), in which Jeannie, in an attempt to free Tony from house fix-up projects, redoes the house into a mansion sold for $60,000 to a NASA VIP. Now, the idea of a $60,000 "mansion" intrigued me; I'm not sure you can buy a mobile home for $60,000 anymore, so I decided to see what that $60,000 house would be worth today. The answer? Approximately $558,831.03, an increase of 831.39 percent. Does that qualify as a mansion under today's home prices? Given that the median U.S. home price hovers around $400,000–$450,000, and that "luxury" homes start at about $1.3 million, Zillow estimates that a mansion would run around $1.4 million; in Miami, the price would be closer to $2 million. For $560,000, you would get a home classified as "nice" or upper-middle-class in many places; to call it a "mansion" would probably be treated with skepticism. (In case you're wondering, in 1969 a mansion would have run over $100,000.) Thus endeth our economics lesson for today.

Davy Jones, who was on Laugh-In on Monday night, is one of the guest stars on This is Tom Jones (Friday, 7:30 p.m., ABC), along with Nancy Wilson, who was on The Carol Burnett Show on Monday night, Rich Litte, Mireille Mathieu, and Herman's Hermits, who weren't on anything else this week. On The Name of the Game (8:30 p.m., NBC), Robert Goulet and his then-wife Carol Lawrence star as Tony Franciosa's investigative reporter looks into the case of a famous doctor (Goulet) who's "an absolute whiz at hospital fund-raising—but totally incompetent as a surgeon." In the late-night movie slot, check out The Outrage (11:30 p.m., KOVR), an Old West version of Rashomon starring Paul Newman as a bandit executed for murder, even though nobody knows for certain what the facts were. Claire Bloom, Laurence Harvey, Edward G. Robinson, and Howard Da Silva fill out a tremendous supporting cast, as well as William Shatner as a preacher—made to order for the Shat's overacting. 

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Finally, as a dedicated MST3K fan, I can't ignore Robert de Roos's feature story on Peter Graves, who appeared on Beginning of the End, It Conquered the World, and Parts: The Clonus Horror, as well as the Rifftrax feature Killers from Space. Graves is now starring in Mission: Impossible, but according to de Roos, he still can't escape the shadow of big brother James Arness. 

"I don’t know why Peter wants to be a star so badly," says George Santoro, a producer at Universal. "He's already recognized by more people than most stars."  Graves insists that this doesn't bother him, although he does admit that he wishes he came across as a star whose fans hold him in awe, rather than those who come up to him and treat him like a long-lost friend. Some think it has to do with the squeaky wheel getting the attention; producer Norman Macdonnell says, "You never hear much about Pete." Others, including Graves, say that his television work has effectively kept him from making the movies that could elevate his profile. 

This could be changing, though. CBS vice president Perry Lafferty says of Graves that "The quiet strength of this man has contributed to the smash hit of Mission: Impossible." It could have been awkward stepping into the lead that had originally been held by Steven Hill, but "there was never a hint

of trouble. I can think of a half dozen other leading men who would have been bitterly resented by the cast. I just wish I had 15 more like him." (This jibes with other descriptions from costars and crew who speak highly of Graves' professionalism and quiet sense of humor.) Graves himself says, "Some bloom early, and some take a little longer. I have a deep sense that I am ready for the big push." Indeed, Peter Graves becomes the face of M:I, notwithstanding the show's gradual decline in the years after Barbara Bain and Martin Landau left the show. Perhaps his greatest hit comes in his deadpan role as Captain Oveur in Airplane. Like Stella Stevens, maybe it just took a little patience. TV

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