This week in TV Guide: August 24, 1963

We have, I think, a tendency to look at the early 1960s as a kind of remnant of the Golden Age of Television, a carryover from the days of great drama and cultural programming, minus the anthologies. I'm probably as guilty of this as anyone, because I really do have a fondness for this period in television history. But are we guilty of a kind of revisionist history?

This week, we see another edition of an occasional feature in TV Guide, in which noted personalities in entertainment, the arts, and news express their opinions on the state of television. The questions posed to them: has TV programming improved over the last five years; what type of program would you like to see; and what is TV's greatest need. The results are, to say the least, mixed. Dr. Margaret Mead, the anthropologist, feels that the medium has definitely declined over the half-decade: "Intervals of program material are getting shorter and shorter, with an increasingly disintegrative effect on the mind." (I wonder what she'd think of today's short attention spans?) The playwright Paddy Chayefsky agrees: "The people who do the programming apparently lack ingenuity, talent, discretion, taste, efficiency, and simple business sense." (But what do you really think?) Former light heavyweight boxing champion and actor Archie Moore provides a thoughtful answer: "It has improved in some ways (for the sponsor); has gained tremendous audience. Programming has not improved much—too much killing. It is the devil's workshop for an idle mind, especially juvenile." 

Not everyone is quite as down on the tube; Carol Burnett, for instance, says it "definitely" has improved, but then goes on to specify how she thinks TV is better: "Frankness in 'discussion shows,'" and how "newscasts are more interesting (due to the high quality of newscasters." Author Harry Golden sees improvement in "news and public-service features." Jack Lemmon has a similar opinion, saying that television has improved "only in news and sports coverage, isolated 'specials,' and the birth of educational TV." Filmed shows, he says, suffer from "trying to please the biggest percentage of audience possible. In other words, trying to appeal to the lowest common denominator." Dave Brubeck feels that it has improved "especially in area of news documentaries," but at the same time it's "regressed in live dramas." Painter Thomas Hart Benton seconds the opinion on the educational side: "Knowledge-content programs seem to have improved somewhat."   

When asked what shows television needs more of, almost everyone agrees that drama needs to come to the forefront. Benton wants "More plays in which language is an important factor and ideas have a place." Lemmon, Brubeck, and Burnett all cite the need for live plays and anthology shows such as Studio One and Playhouse 90. Chayefsky, not surprisingly, is the most tart on this score: "I should like to see unabashed satires, biting and protesting drama, some feeling that Americans have more vigor than television thinks they have." Mead wants to see television utilize its skill to present "programs that can be done only on TV (not on film), and joins Golden, Burnett, Lemmon, and Secretary of State Dean Rusk in calling for more news, public affairs, and documentary programming, along with shows that allow a frank and open exchange of ideas. Brubeck (not surprisingly) and Moore would like to see more arts and music programs. 

What does TV need? Almost everyone agrees on what it doesn't need: commercials. Thomas Hart Benton says that "The main irritant in all programming is interruptions by advertising. Advertising should be before or after programs. Present practice is intolerable." (Hear, hear!) Actors like Burnett and Lemmon want less sponsor interference in program content, which Burnett believes leads to a situation where "networks are less likely to gamble on 'untried people.' Experiments! How else can it grow?" Dave Brubeck, like Paddy Chayefsky, believes that the public is "far more intelligent than TV programs would indicate." Archie Moore would like more prime-time programming for children, and Dean Rusk believes that television's greatest capacity is its positive contribution to democracy; its greatest need is "to continue and to improve upon its record of public service in this field." 

As is invariably the case, everyone views things through their own lens, reflecting their own preferences and biases. Creative people want more creative programming, public servants want more public affairs shows, actors want more live TV, dramatists want more drama. Nobody seems terribly thrilled with the state of the medium today; even their positive comments are hedged or qualified. And almost everyone believes that the programmers underestimate the native intelligence and desire of the public, even though the ratings rarely bear this out. Paddy Chayefsky, as befits one of the premier writers of the age, perhaps sums things up nicely. When asked what television's greatest need is, his simple reply is, "talent [and] self-respect." I wonder what they would think of television today?

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This Wednesday sees one of the seminal moments in 20th Century American history, the civil rights March on Washington. It's best-known for the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.'s stirring "I Have a Dream" speech, and for the equally stirring scene of Americans both black and white, rich and poor, famous and anonymous, marching on the Nation's capital. 

The event's official name is the "March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom," sponsored by the six major civil rights groups in the United States, and an estimated quarter of a million participants are expected to gather around the Washington Monument to begin the march, which will conclude with speeches from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Besides King, political, religious, and business leaders are also scheduled to speak, including Roy Wilkins, John Lewis, and labor leader Walter Reuther. There are rumors that President Kennedy himself might address the marchers, but that has not been confirmed at press time. (He doesn't.)

CBS and NBC plan extensive coverage of the march, with live cut-ins when events warrant. NBC's Frank McGee will have two half-hour reports, at 2:00 p.m. and 4:30 p.m. ET, plus a 45-minute wrap-up at 11:15 p.m., or after the late local news. CBS's morning program Calendar will be reporting live from Washington at 10:00 a.m., and Walter Cronkite will be back at 7:30 p.m. for a special one-hour report. Evening news programs—which, you'll remember, are still only 15 minutes long at this point—will obviously provide headline coverage. 

Notable for its absence is ABC, the perennially third-place network. I would be very surprised if they didn't do some kind of reporting during the day, besides their evening news report. But if you're interested, YouTube has some of that NBC News coverage, likely Frank McGee's afternoon report, as it happened.

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Speaking of drama, one of the great ongoing dramas on television right now isn't on a dramatic show at all, but on The Judy Garland Show. Specifically, it concerns the behind-the-scenes drama, as the show, which doesn't even premiere for another month, has already suffered its first casualties, with producer George Schlatter and three of his writers getting the sack. The network's comment: while it was "delighted" with the five episodes Schlatter had in the can, there were "differences of opinion as to the course of future production." Irreconcilable differences, as we might say in the domestic arena. 

As Henry Harding points out, none of this turmoil counts as a surprise; "the I-told-you-so set in New York and Hollywood had been prophesying for months that CBS would have its hands full keeping the unpredictable star happy." However, the available evidence suggests that in this case, Judy was "an innocent bystander" to the conflict between Schaltter and the network. Insiders accuse Schlatter of having "wanted every show to be a blockbuster and, according to one insider, had let things 'get out of hand physically and financially.' CBS thought Schlatter was trying to do the impossible and was concerned about the drain on the network's exchequer." As I recall—I'm not looking it up right now—this coincides with Garland's own feeling about the show, which she envisioned as a weekly concert more than a traditional variety show. 

At any rate, the change—the first of many which will occur during the troubled single-season series—will go into effect immediately, with associate producer and scenic designer Gary Smith taking over the helm. And the Schlatter era is just so much drama over the rainbow.

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If you're my age, or perhaps slightly younger, you'll remember Jules Bergman as one of the most authoritative of television's space-age reporters. Few would question his credentials, his knowledge of space, or his ambition. There's even a file photo at ABC picturing Bergman in a space suit, standing on a simulated lunar surface, with the caption, "Jules Bergman, ABC, the Moon." But there are some who, perhaps ironically, see his space beat as only appropriate for a man whose competitive drive seems as big as the universe itself.

"Julie is the finest TV space reporter around town, certainly the best qualified," one competitor said. "But he's got the most gigantic ego I've ever seen. He's always bragging about how great ABC News is and saying how poorly CBS and NBC handle their jobs." Last year, he got into a fist fight with CBS News producer Bob Wussler after the two had exchanged words*; both men now say that the matter is long forgotten. 

*I'm betting Wussler was not overheard saying, "To the Moon, Bergman!" as he threw his punch.

Bergman says many of the complaints are due to professional competitiveness; "When it comes to getting a story, they are all real tigers, just like me. You can't help stepping on some toes in the helter-skelter of trying to get on the air first with your facts." That's backed up by his former boss, John Daly, for whom Bergman worked while Daly was head of ABC News. "He had a tremendous amount of drive and ambition," Daly says. Recalling how, after Bergman had won a fellowship at the Columbia School of Journalism, he had not only convinced Daly to give me a leave of absense, but to pay the difference between his ABC salary and his fellowship income, Daly says, "He had the get-up-and-go to get the fellowship. Once he got it, he came to me and painted vividly the advantages ABC News would enjoy in having a science expert on staff."

More recently, Bergman worked for James Hagerty, who succeeded Daly as ABC News boss after serving as Eisenhower's press secretary. It was Hagerty who put Bergman on the science beat; "I was surprised, too, to discover that Jules knew as much about our Government's space program as I did—and I learned about it, after all, at the White House. I wanted a man whose sole news beat was to be the whole wide range of science, so I appointed Jules our science editor." Bergman remains the only science editor on network television.

His expertise has been on display many times, including Scott Carpenter's Aurora 7 flight last year, when it appeared that the capsule—and Carpenter—might be lost. "I told our viewers that it was impossible that radar had lost him even though he was out of voice contact. It turned out I was right." That confidence, again. Having been fascinated with manned spaceflight for my entire life, and having watched so many of those Gemini and Apollo missions on TV, I can say that, along with Frank McGee and Bill Ryan on NBC, and Walter Cronkite and Wally Schirra on CBS, I'll always think of Jules Bergman whenever I look back on that remarkable time in history.

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Saturday's episode of Gunsmoke (10:00 p.m., CBS) is a truly notable one: in "Us Hagens," Matt, searching for Black Jack Haggen, accused of murdering nephew Fergus Haggen, is assisted by Fergus's twin brother, scruffy hillbilly Festus. That's right, the first appearance of Festus, played by Ken Curtis, who would go on to become one of the most-loved members of the Gunsmoke clan. His appearances on the show will be occasional until 1964, when he takes Dennis Weaver's place as Dillon's deputy. Black Jack, incidentally, is played by Denver Pyle, who was once considered for the role of Matt Dillon when the television version of Gunsmoke was being planned.

Sunday's DuPont Show of the Week (10:00 p.m., NBC) is an intriguing one: "The Interrogator," which takes place on the British colony of Cyprus, where a police inspector, played by John Mills, stands accused of murdering a terrorist prisoner under his custody. With only one day to prove his innocence before being exiled to England, the inspector decides to interrogate other members of the terrorist group. Robert Loggia, Ina Balin, Murray Matheson, and Gene Wilder co-star 

Phil Silvers, whom we all know and love as Sgt. Ernie Bilko, is reunited with Bilko creator Nat Hiken for Monday night's Comedy Hour Special, "The Ballad of Louis the Louse" (9:00 p.m., CBS). It's a role tailor-made for Silvers, who plays the late Louis Cramfield, loan shark and louse, whose death sparks no tears except for a newspaperman who eulogizes Louis as "the Saint of Broadway." Silvers is joined in the cast by Betsy Palmer, Eddie Albert, and Pert Kelton. Hiken, in addition to directing, wrote the book and lyrics for the musical; the music was composed by Gordon Jenkins. 

Apropos of Jules Bergman, a special on Tuesday night, apparently syndicated but appearing on two of the four ABC affiliates in this Eastern New England edition, is Focus on America (10:30 p.m.), featuring Dr. Wernher von Braun, head of the U.S. space program. Von Braun gives some quite interesting opinions on the "space race," including one that must have been a bit controversial for the time, that "the objective of space exploration should be the discovery of knowledge," and that the country "should forget about 'beating the Russians.'" Now, that happens to be a viewpoint I agree with, but I wonder how others felt about it, considering that much of the motivation for the financial layout required to put a man on the moon came from the race to beat the Russkies. Too bad we can't ask Jules Bergman about it.

Wednesday's programming highlight is "Like a Diamond in the Sky," a haunting episode of the excellent psychiatric drama The Eleventh Hour (10:00 p.m., NBC), in which Julie London plays glamorous singer Joan Ashmond, who's committed suicide; Dr. Graham (Jack Ging) is assigned to perform a "psychological post-mortem." The episode first aired on February 13, 1963; no wonder the description in the listings says it will likely remind viewers of Marilyn Monroe's death, which had occurred only six months prior to that broadcast.

On Thursday, NBC's Project 20 takes a look at "The Story of Will Rogers" (10:00 p.m.), an hour-long profile of the beloved humorist narrated by a man who knew a thing or two about humor himself, Bob Hope. Project 20, which you sometimes see styled Project XX, was one of those series that well-served the desire that many of our experts up in the lede expressed for more informative and educational shows that were also entertaining. 

Friday begins with the final episode of CBS's morning public affairs program Calendar, hosted by Harry Reasoner and Mary Fickett. (10:00 a.m.) You don't read much about Calendar in the history books when it comes to morning programming, which is too bad, because although I've never seen it, it's always sounded like an interesting show. What's replacing it? The CBS Morning News with Mike Wallace, which will eventually move to an earlier timeslot, and has morphed into CBS Mornings, which in my opinion is a far lesser program. Skipping from morning to late-night, a couple of local movies attract the attention: Paths of Glory (11;15 p.m., WBZ), one of the greatest anti-war movies of all time, starring Kirk Douglas, Ralph Meeker, and Adolphe Menjou; and a movie that we usually see more often around the Yule, The Man Who Came to Dinner (11:20 p.m., WMTW), one of the greatest anti-sentimentality Christmas movies of all time, starring Monty Woolley, Bette Davis, Ann Sheridan, and a scene-stealing appearance by Jimmy Durante.

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No MST3K movie this week, but something almost as good: an article on Judee Morton. Fans of MST3K remember her from the immortal The Slime People, but this week she's the woman who looked too young. Although she's 24, with a college degree from UCLA, she's always being cast as teens (including in the aforementioned Slime People, and for good reason: she looks like a teen. During her first television appearance, on My Three Sons, she had to convince the production manager that she didn't need a work permit, something that's required of anyone under 18, and that in fact her "work permit" was a B.A. degree from UCLA.

While she never becomes a major star, Judee compiles an impressive list of credits, mostly in guest appearances on television; there's a time in the late 1960s and early '70s when she seems to appear on almost every show on TV. Her last appearance is on House in 2009, after which she worked as a practicing psychotherapist. Her interview on the bonus track of MST3K's Slime People DVD is charming, and she's still around, at 85. And probably wishing, as we all do, that she still looked like a teenager. TV

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This week in TV Guide: December 14, 1968

Let's face it: 1968 was a pretty crummy year. And even now, with only 17 days left, we're still dwelling on one of the most fractious events of the year: the Democratic National Convention in Chicago.

Reuven Frank, the head of NBC News (remember him from last week's The Wall?), defends the media's coverage of the riots in a very long (eight pages) article that's very difficult to condense, but once you get beyond the details of what happened in Chicago and how the networks covered it, you get to the crux of the matter: you find that the specific complaints are just a symptom of a greater problem that goes beyond Chicago; they deal with the psyche of the nation, the threats that people feel they face, and perhaps the truths they don't want to face.

"Many, even most, Americans consider themselves individually threatened these days," Frank says. "There are three sources of threat: racial conflict, the Vietnam War, and dirty young people with long hair." And what "hurts" television is that there is no escape from the camera's eye. "The newspaper-reader's eye can skip what bores him, ignore what disturbs him." Not so with television; "If the Huntley-Brinkley Report shows the Vietnam War five days one week and the viewer always watches the Huntley-Brinkley Report, he will see the Vietnam War five days that week." There may be other news, including good news that networks are always accused of ignoring, "but not enough to erase the afterimage of the inescapable." 

   Reuven Frank

Defending the images shown on the news, Frank says, "As for the news we put out, we put it out because we think it out to be put out." It's put out because it's relevant, current, and involves the public. "But American journalism as an institution is never venal. It never does things purely for its own gains." Subjective decisions are always made, but they're made according to what the public wants and the instincts of journalists as to how they should act. "They do not act from self-interest." 

This makes American journalism different from other countries, where journalists are expected to advance a social purpose. "And here, today, in the United States, facing a frightening jigsaw of crises for which we are unprepared, many people seem to think that American journalism, and above all American television journalism, should be governed by ennobling purposes. We are castigated for not promoting unity, for not opening channels of interracial communication, for not building an edifice of support for our fighting men, for not ignoring dissent, for not showing good news."

But who decides what is unity, what is dissent, what is good news? It could be five Albert Schweitzers sitting around a table making that decision, or it could be five Joseph Goebbelses. But, says Frank, "I say the table itself is evil."  "The only safeguard is free journalism, journalism without directed purpose, because whether that purpose represents good or evil depends on who you are." Because when you start telling journalists what to put in and what to leave out, "[w]hatever you call it, censorship is censorship, and all censorship is aimed not at the transmitter but at the receiver."

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During the 60s, the Ed Sullivan Show and The Hollywood Palace were the premiere 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: Gwen Verdon; comedians Steve Rossi and Joe E. Ross (appearing as a team for the first time), and Norm Crosby; Anna Maria Alberghetti; singer Stevie Wonder, who does "For Once in My Life"; and Anna Lou and Maris, magicians.

Palace: Host Jimmy Durante's guests are Ethel Merman, Sugar Ray Robinson, Bill "Jose Jimenez" Dana, Vikki Carr, singer-dancer Leland Palmer, the comedy team of Hendra and Ulett, and the Iriston Horsemen from the Moscow State Circus.

Both Ed and the Palace will be on again before Christmas, so it's a normal week of lineups. Both entertaining, neither overwhelming the other. Just because of two legends, Durante and Merman, I'll give the Palace the win by a nose, and although I know I've used that joke before, I just couldn't resist one more time.

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Throughout the 60s and early 70s, TV Guide's weekly reviews were written by the witty and acerbic Cleveland Amory. Whenever we get the chance, we'll look at Cleve's latest take on the shows of the era. 

"This show," Cleveland Amory begins, "has been described as 'Dragnet on wheels.' It might also be described as 'My Mother, the Patrol Car' on the prowl." But, he warns, "don't dismiss it too lightly."

In case you haven't already figured it out, "this" show is Adam-12, NBC's new half-hour police drama, executive produced by Jack Webb. And in his review, Amory adopts a serious tone much earlier than we're accustomed to, to make a serious point. Yes, he acknowledges, we're given the traditional "veteran mentoring a young rookie," a trope that goes back at least as far as Dr. Kildare. "But underneath this surface routine it's at least an attempt to get at one of the underlying causes of one of our deepest troubles these days—that many of us fail to realize that if the average policeman of today bears no relation to the Keystone Cop of yesterday, neither does he necessarily bear any relation to helmeted Yippie-beaters." [See above.] "And," he continues, "this show tells us, without ever laboring the point, that if we can't look up to the police in quite the same way we did as kids, still we should, as adults, at least be able to look at them fairly and squarely, without looking down on them."

Amory admires the program's dedication to a kind of realism not generally seen on television—the realism that understands not every episode climaxes in a wild chase or shootout, that patrolmen will often leave the "big" stories to the detectives because crime waits for no one and there are always other calls to check out, and that as often as a policeman is an enforcer, he is also an arbiter, one who tries to keep things from reaching a head but still has to be prepared to act appropriately if it does.

Amory reserves particular praise for the show's stars: Martin Milner, as the veteran Malloy, "is excellent—just the right mixture of world-weariness on top (he's over 30 but still in possession of all his faculties) and good-guyness underneath." McCord, portraying the rookie Reed, is "just the right mixture of youthful pride and earnestness. Their scenes together will not pull you out of your chair but you will believe them." The two demonstrate sensitivity when appropriate, hardness when required—and that's not a particularly easy combination to portray. 

It's been my observation, though I'll gladly defer to those who look at these shows more closely, that Adam-12 never achieved the respect of Dragnet, nor the affectionate fandom of Emergency!, two other shows from the era produced by the Webb stable. "All in all," Cleve concludes, "it may not be a show you'll want to stay home for, but if you are home, you could do a lot worse than turn it on and, afterwards, think about it." 

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Last week, in another issue from another decade, I mentioned that as we got closer to Christmas, we'd likely see more programs demonstrating the Yuletide spirit; let's just cut to the chase and look at this Thursday, when NBC gives us one of the great seasonal lineups of all time:

At 6:30 p.m. CT, it's the debut of what is arguably the last great Rankin-Bass animated Christmas special, The Little Drummer Boy, with Jose Ferrer as Ben Haramed, Teddy Eccles as the Drummer Boy, and Greer Garson as the narrator. I wrote about this special here; it hasn't enjoyed the network run of other specials (due, I suspect, to its overtly religious content), but remains a touching look at the true meaning of the season.

That's followed at 7:00 p.m. by the Andy Williams Christmas Show. Andy no longer hosts a regular weekly show, but you're not about to keep him away from the most wonderful time of the year. For his eighth annual Christmas show, he's joined, as always, by mom and dad Williams, the Williams brothers, wife Claudine Longet and the kids, and the Osmonds. All you need now is a fireplace and a cup of cocoa. (Incidentally, the original music for the program is written by Mason Williams.)

At 8:00 p.m., it's the Bob Hope Christmas Special. This is Bob in the studio, as opposed to the show with the troops, which usually airs after the New Year. The entire show, save the monologue, revolves around a search for the missing Santa Claus, a spoof of Mission: Impossible (interesting that they'd essentially give free publicity to a show from another network), with the typical bevy of beauties as suspects: Nancy Ames, Carol Lawrence, Janet Leigh and Stella Stevens. Along the way, Bob runs into Glen Campbell (who sings "If You Go Away") and Jerry Colonna.

To top off the night, it's the only program that's not a special, but it's still pretty special. The Christmas edition of The Dean Martin Show (9:00 p.m.) a very funny hour with special guests Dennis Weaver, Bob Newhart, Dom DeLuise, and the Golddiggers, and featuring plenty of Christmas music (including Weaver trying to sing "The Marvelous Toy" while being "assisted" by the kids of the show's stars and staff.

That's the cream of the crop, but there's more! A couple of syndicated specials highlight The King Family Christmas (Wednesday, 6:30 p.m., WCCO) and The Ray Conniff Christmas Show (Thursday, 7:30 p.m., KAUS). Back on the networks, Eddie Albert narrates an abridged version of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker (Friday, 6:30 p.m., CBS), with Edward Villella, Patricia McBride, and other stars from the New York City Ballet. Some weekly series, such as Here Come the Brides and The Beverly Hillbillies, air their Christmas episodes this week, being their last shows before Christmas. Sunday morning, Lamp Unto My Feed and Look Up and Live unite for an hour-long Hanukkah special reflecting Jewish heritage (9:00 a.m., CBS), and Roberta Peters talks about entertaining Israeli troops during the Seven-Day War and sings the Hanukkah folk song "Al Hanisim" on another Hanukkah special (11:00 a.m., NBC). WEAU in Eau Claire provides live color coverage of the lighting of the White House Christmas tree on Monday (4:00 p.m.) And throughout the week, various stations present Christmas concerts by local high schools and colleges—some of them were cringe-worthy at the time, but what I wouldn't give to see that kind of local programming today. 

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It's also the time of the year when the football season winds down, with the first college bowl game of the year (of 10), and the final regular season games for the NFL and AFL. On Saturday, it's the Liberty Bowl (11:15 a.m., ABC), with Mississippi, led by future sire of famous quarterbacks Archie Manning (a pretty fair QB himself), taking on Virginia Tech. Neither team is ranked; the bowl games with the best teams are almost never before Christmas. On Sunday, both pro leagues have doubleheaders (which I would have considered a boon); on CBS it's the Minnesota Vikings and Philadelphia Eagles (12:15 p.m.) followed by the Baltimore Colts and Los Angeles Rams (3:00 p.m.), while NBC counters with the New York Jets and Miami Dolphins at 12:30 p.m., and the Oakland Raiders at the San Diego Chargers at 3:00 p.m. The playoffs start next week. 

What else would you like to know? Here's something: did you know that prior to The Ten Commandments, ABC's Easter movie tradition was The Robe? Not only that, the network is showing it again this Wednesday night "as a Christmas observance," according to the Close-Up. I own the DVD, so it's not like I'm complaining, but I share Judith Crist's confusion that showing a "story of the Crucifixion at the season celebrating the Nativity is a puzzlement." (It does, however, make a certain theological sense, as Christmas inexorably leads to Good Friday, and culminates with Easter Sunday, but that's a discussion for another time and place.) In any event, it's an epic, with Richard Burton, Jean Simmons, and Victor Mature leading an all-star cast.

In this week's cover story, Diahann Carroll tells Richard Warren Lewis about the importance of her new series, Julia, "the first weekly series to be built around the character of a contemporary Negro." "For a hundred years we have been prevented from seeing accurate images of ourselves and we're all overconcerned and overreacting," Carroll says. "The needs of the white writer go to the superhuman being. At the moment, we're presenting the white Negro. And he has very little Negro-ness." She's working to bring more black writers into television, ones who understand the need to present a more realistic view. "So many things have been done with black people on television that have lacked any real commitment," she says. "It is time to present the black character primarily as a human being. I want to do something that deals with a black person in the everyday situation of ups and downs, good and bad." 

Mike Douglas, in a syndicated repeat from 1967, hosts an "upbeat" look at the younger generation (Friday, 9:00 p.m., KROC). "[T]his younger generation is pretty great," Mike declares, and interviews others with the same opinion, including Hubert Humphrey, the late Robert F. Kennedy [who was alive when the show originally aired], Bob Hope, Bishop James A. Pike, Jerry Lewis, Ronald Reagan, and Pearl S. Buck. 

One person who definitely doesn't share Mike's upbeat opinion is Cesar Romero. In an interesting profile by Carolyn See, Romero voices his disapproval of today's movies: "Unless you take off your clothes or make love to a relative, it's not a serious movie. And children's pictures are just awful. Unless you're under 4 or a pervert, there's nothing to look at. Years ago they couldn't say damn; now they say anything." When See asks his opinion of what's brought about the decline of movies, he makes his opinion known. "I imagine the hippies, the flower children, have a lot to do with what's going on today. There's a decay in our moral system, no one knows what's right or wrong, there's a disregard for all the old values. They take drugs, they go to those love-ins, they don't go to school, they don't learn a trade, they don't know what they want to do in life. . ." 

As one of the last of Hollywood's Golden Age—Cesar numbers Clark Gable, Tyrone Power, Carole Lombard, Betty Grable, and William Powell among his friends—he's seen the times change, the end of the studio system, the disappearance of stock companies where young actors could learn their trade, the old days of elegance and fame, glamor and sparkle, the Hollywoodness of it all. He's become famous again for a new generation through Batman, and he enjoys playing the Joker, but his frank view of television is framed by a working actor who came through the business learning how to play different roles on a weekly, sometimes nightly, basis. Through that lens, television is something that eats up actors, asks them to play the same character week after week until everyone looks and sounds like everyone else—and because everyone is called a star, no one actually is one. "TV bores you to death," he says, "but you can build up an annuity."

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I would imagine that, with 17 days until the end of this lousy year, having been reminded of violence and racism and inequality, flower children and discontent and dirty movies, with Vietnam hanging over everything, it must have seemed like a good time for Prozac. Isn't there any good news to look forward to?

It comes on page A-68, the last page in the program section, a CBS news special at 9:45 p.m. "A preview of the Apollo 8 space flight, scheduled to begin tomorrow. Walter Cronkite reports from Cape Kennedy." The flight would leave the Cape on Saturday, December 21; three days later, on Christmas Eve, the Apollo 8 astronauts would orbit the moon, reading from Genesis, before the largest television audience in history. Many people would say that Christmas Eve broadcast saved the year; at the end of the year Time named the three-man crew "Men of the Year," and it's unlikely that anyone looking at the pictures of the Earth rising from behind the moon could have failed to be moved. As Frank Borman would say, "good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas and God bless all of you—all of you on the good Earth." And in that moment, maybe the year 1968 wasn't so bad after all. TV  

Around the dial

At Cult TV Blog, John has a very interesting comment in his review of the ITV Playhouse episode "Last Summer": "Writing these posts keeps reminding me that television was treated very much as if it was a new medium, even as late as the 1970s." I think that's very perceptive, as is his follow-up: "When I think of formats new to TV I'm ashamed to say that all I can think of is TV shopping, and reality TV. Strange it should have become so dominant when it's so derivative." By all means read about what John thinks of "Last Summer," but keep these thoughts in mind as well, and apply them to what is supposed to be a boom time of prestige TV.

The Hitchcock Project continues at bare-bones e-zine, and this week Jack looks at "Mr. Blanchard's Secret," a second-season episode written by Sarett Rudley. Not only does it show the dangers of having a vivid imagination, it's another example of how dramatically a plot can change in the process of being adapted from a short story to a teleplay—one of the aspects I most enjoy from these pieces.

Perhaps it's just me; Sunday evenings have always had a character different from the other six days of the week, and I assume that it has something to do with returning to school or work the next day. Sunday's also had a distinctive history of television shows over the years, both good and bad. This week at Comfort TV, David begins an ambitious project with a look at Sunday TV in the 1970s. I'm looking forward to the rest of the series!

Good news on the reading front! Martin Grams reports on a book coming out next year, Playhouse 90: A History of the Television Program, 1956-1960, which he's co-authoring with Bob Tevis. I'm looking forward to this; it's sure to be a valuable addition to the classic TV bookshelf.

The actress Barrie Youngfellow, a familiar face on television throughout the 1970s and '80s, died last week, aged 75. Terence recalls her career and credits at A Shroud of Thouughts.

Finally at Shadow & Substance, Paul takes a closer look at "A Most Non-Political Speech" that Rod Serling wrote for the "Religious Witness for Human Dignity" civil rights rally held in Los Angeles in 1964. It's a powerful message from a man accustomed to speaking with gravitas. TV  

This week in TV Guide: January 16, 1965

Well, I wanna tell ya, in 1965 there was no doubt that Bob Hope was, as the cover says, an American Institution, and had been for quite some time. It is not lightly that we dress someone in a red, white and blue tie and pose him as the Statue of Liberty, after all. And yet, to some—as the late Terry Teachout (and you don't know how much it pains me to say that) pointed out in this essay from a few years ago—Hope is, today, a forgotten man.*

*I wrote about that Teachout piece when it first came out, though I'm not of a mind to go back and look up what I wrote back then. What Teachout wrote was thoughtful and provocative, as he usually was, but as I've thought more about it, I've come more and more to disagree with it, as you'll soon see.

What makes a man an institution? As Dwight Whitney writes, it's more than whether or not you're funny. Hope "has long ceased to be a mere jokesmith, quipster, and all-around funny fellow." He is a man who has traveled to virtually every country in the world, often at Christmastime. He is a man called upon by the State Department to use his prestige in the cause of international diplomacy, as in the case where he facilitated a Japanese Little League team getting their visas in time to come to the Little League World Series. He is a man who can glibly throw spears at politicians from all parties and still have them love him. He receives 50 requests a week to appear at benefits for hospitals, churches, homes for juvenile delinquents. "He considers them all, then agonizes because he can do only a few." He does all this—and more.

I think the Hope-Crosby Road movies are very funny. Watching Hope's TV specials (or listening to his radio programs) I can take him or leave him; some of the jokes work, others don't, although the audiences of the times seem to have appreciated them. He stayed around too long, as his last shows attest; but then, how many performers really know when it's time to say goodbye?

Times change, as to tastes. One commentator on Teachout's article remarked that he didn't find Hope funny, but then he didn't think Dick Van Dyke or Bob Newhart were funny either. His taste ran more toward Seinfeld, to which another wrote that Seinfeld was old news, that he wasn't funny either. You can accept Teachout's thesis that Hope's main flaw was that he wasn't a "Jewish comedian," but my hunch is it as much more to do with our short-attention-span generations, where except for slights (real or imagined), nothing that happened more than 36 hours ago is worth mentioning. Hope forgotten? Yes, as are most of the Founding Fathers and U.S. presidents (well, perhaps Grant's Tomb was a little hasty), Johnny Carson, Peter De Vries, Sinclair Lewis, Jackie Gleason and—for the latest generation—even Jerry Seinfeld. Playwrights, poets, novelists, movie stars, television heroes, political leaders, religious figures; their time always seems to come and go, when a society doesn't care to remember its history.

Bob Hope may not be the funniest man in the world to modern ears, but in context he was at the top. He was a great humanitarian, an institution at the Academy Awards, a Godsend to the troops. You just don't forget someone with the body of work he has. Even if you don't respect his humor, you respect his accomplishments, and to the extent that he is forgotten, it says little about him—and a great deal about us.

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No "Sullivan vs. The Palace this week; usually, it's because ABC's found some reason or other to bump The Hollywood Palace, but this time it's CBS', fault—Ed makes way for the network's annual showing of The Wizard of Oz, hosted by Danny Kaye, at 7:00 p.m. It's easy to forget that in the days before DVDs and VCRs and all-movie cable channels, the showing of a movie like The Wizard of Oz could be quite an event. In its early broadcast years, it was shown as part of pre-Christmas festivities, but starting in 1964 it was moved to January, which is where it is this year. I was surprised to learn, in a somewhat jumbled and repetitive article from the always-reliable Wikipedia, that the movie has never been shown on local television—it's always been broadcast either on an over-the-air network or on cable. I guess it's true that you learn something new every day if you're not careful.

Anyway, I digress, It's too bad Ed didn't show up for the battle this week, because it's the first anniversary of The Hollywood Palace, and to celebrate they've brought back the host of that first show, Bing Crosby. Bing welcomes his co-stars from his ABC sitcom, Beverly Garland and Frank McHugh, the King Sisters, ballet dancers Jacques d'Amboise and Catherine Mazzo, comedian Corbett Monica, the Three Rebertes acrobats, and Leonardo, who does some always-welcome plate spinning. Bing's joined for a skit by previous Palace hosts, including George Burns, Liberace, Cyd Charisse and Tony Martin, Gene Barry, Ed Wynn, Debbie Reynolds, Groucho Marx, Buddy Ebsen, Phil Harris and Bette Davis. I think I'd have to give the week to Palace even if Ed was on.

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Throughout the 60s and early 70s, TV Guide's weekly reviews were written by the witty and acerbic Cleveland Amory. Whenever we get the chance, we'll look at Cleve's latest take on the shows of the era. 

This week, Cleveland Amory takes a trip into the world of spies with The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Now, this is another program we enjoy watching, so we have to admit having our feelings hurt a bit when Amory begins his review by noting that earlier in the month, NBC had preempted the show for a White Paper report on "The Decision to Drop the Bomb," and then remarks, "They should have kept U.N.C.L.E. on while they dropped the bomb."

To be fair, though, those first few U.N.C.L.E. episodes really weren't that good, at least compared to when the show found its stride in the last part of the first season and throughout season two. For one thing, the episodes Amory references come from before the producers figured out that David McCallum was just as important to the success of the show as Robert Vaughn.* One contemporary critic commented that it was McCallum's presence that allowed Vaughn to become a more well-rounded character, rather that the generic superspy he was originally conceived as. That, and the fact that McCallum had tremendous appeal to the young female fans of the show.

*In the past I've commented that Robert Vaughn is the only man I know who can make even the hero look and sound smarmy.

In that sense, we can't really disagree with Amory's observation that "for all the fast pace and gimmickry, there just isn't enough charm." Even when the concept is a good one, as was the case with "The Double Affair," the execution is lacking. "But there was also scene after scene which seemed to be building up to something that never happened." Even when it does, he complains, you don't really care about the characters; he's sure one bad guy keeled over not from violent mayhem, but because " he was, we are certain, bored to death."

He does credit McCallum as being better than Vaughn, although not by much, but again - it would be interesting to see if Cleve revisits the series in a year or so. Not during the dreadful season three, when the show becomes a grotesque parody of Batman, but when the balance between thriller and spoof seems to be just right. By then, we feel, Vaughn and McCallum are doing just fine as Napoleon and Illya - and we think he might agree with that.

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I'm often impressed by the narrow lead time some issues of TV Guide have; take G-E College Bowl, for example, in which the winning college returns the following week to defend its championship. The show airs live on Sunday afternoons, and yet week after week the name of the returning champion can be found in the following week's listing. Assuming the magazine comes out on Thursday or Friday, that gives it only a couple of days to get everything ready. Sometimes, however, especially in cases of the unexpected, we run into a listing for a program that never was. Such is the case this week.

On Saturday at 2:00 p.m., ABC is scheduled to broadcast the AFL All-Star Game, live from the Sugar Bowl stadium in New Orleans. In reality, although the game is played that Saturday, the all-stars are not in New Orleans. It's one of the more important sports-associated events of the civil rights movement; thanks to sports documentaries, the details have been pretty well shared by now, but if you're not a sports fan I don't know if you've ever heard the story.

New Orleans in the 1960s remained a racial tinderbox—one of the most segregated and racist cities in the South, according to some. In fact, just a couple of weeks prior, the Sugar Bowl (which began in 1935) had hosted its first game that included a fully integrated team (Syracuse University), a game which had come off without incident. The American Football League had scheduled the All-Star game for the city as a try-out for a possible expansion team; at the time, there were no professional franchises located there, and the NFL and AFL were competing for cities in the underrepresented South. However, as this excellent article points out, New Orleans was headed for a major black eye. Despite assurances by the league and city officials, black players were almost immediately subject to discrimination as soon as they arrived for the game:

[M]any of the black players were left stranded at the airport for hours when they arrived in town. Once in the city African American players were refused cab service and in some cases those who were given rides were dropped off miles from their destinations.

Other players were refused admittance to nightspots and restaurants, while nearly all were subjected to tongue-lashings and to a hostile atmosphere on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter while sightseeing.  The situation became so uncomfortable for the black players who clearly felt unwelcome that most simply returned to their hotels.

Eventually, the twenty-one black all-stars—supported by many of their white teammates—voted to boycott the game if it remained in New Orleans. Panicked league officials, with little time to do anything else, were forced to act quickly. On Monday, January 11 - only five days before the game - AFL Commissioner Joe Foss announced the game was being moved to Houston. It was too late for TV Guide to do anything about it, but the Close-Up remains a reminder of the climate of the times, and of how long it took some things to change. I wonder how the announcers on the telecast addressed the situation?

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Wednesday is January 20, and we all know what that means every four years - the inauguration of the President and Vice President of the United States. This year, President Lyndon Johnson will take the oath of office for his first full term, in circumstances quite different from those which existed when he became President on November 22, 1963.

For the first time since that date, the nation will have a Vice President, as Minnesota Senator Hubert Humphrey is sworn in, followed by LBJ himself. After a landslide victory over Republican candidate Barry Goldwater, it is a chance for Johnson to rejoice, to feel the sense of triumph denied him due to his sudden accession to the presidency. As one newsman commented—probably Edwin Newman; it has his puckish sense of humor—Johnson "looked as if he could dance all night, and probably did." And yet, I wonder if the nation had really recovered from JFK's assassination. It's only about 14 months since then, and just as news commentators compared Kennedy's triumphant inaugural trip down Pennsylvania Avenue to his solemn funeral cortege along the same route, it was bound to occur to more than one observer that LBJ's victorious parade could well have been—should have been—Kennedy's.*

*A brief political interjection: though I'm no fan of Johnson's politics, I've always felt compassion for the man considering how he was treated by so many of the Kennedy loyalists. 

TV coverage of the inauguration is complete, beginning at 7:00 a.m. on NBC with Today, and continuing on CBS at 10:00 and ABC at 10:30, leading up to the oath-taking at noon, with musical performances by Leontyne Price and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, followed by the Inaugural Parade. That night, attention shifts to the four Inaugural Balls (and Johnson's all-night dancing), so big that even The Tonight Show is preempted in order for NBC to cover them.

Four years later, the scene will repeat itself, with a stunningly different cast of characters. Richard Nixon, thought to be cast into political oblivion, is now President; LBJ, harried and hated, leaves office after choosing not to run for reelection; Robert F. Kennedy, the heir-apparent to Camelot, is dead; Hubert Humphrey, four years a Vice President, barely misses catching Nixon at the end. Not for the first time, nor for the last, does one muse on how nobody possibly could have predicted it.

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Let's see, it's been awhile since we've had a starlet of the week, hasn't it? Well, let's try Debbie Watson on for size.

Debbie, still 15 at the time this issue comes out (she turns 16 on January 17) is, in the words of "people who should know," one of the "it" girls—that is, whatever "it" is that makes someone a star, she has it. She's the lead in the sitcom Karen, one of the three programs that makes up the umbrella series 90 Bristol Court on NBC*, and even though that series only lasts a year, she'll rebound to star in the 1965-66 version of Tammy, based on the big-screen movies. In 1966 she'll take the place of Pat Priest in Munster, Go Home. And at this point, she is getting a kick out of the whole thing.

*The other two programs are Harris Against the World and Tom, Dick and Mary. Of the three, only Karen lasts the entire season.

She's naive, though, and hasn't seemed quite to understand what it means to star in a TV series. She's been late to a photo shoot, and she's skeptical that being an actress will change much about her life. These things aren't offered as criticisms, but pointed out to show just how green she is. And maybe that's why her career is so short. Her last entry in IMDb is an appearance on Love, American Style in 1971, and after that she retired to what has been by all accounts a relatively satisfied life. And there's nothing wrong with that.

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A couple of weeks ago ABC telecast the United Nations drama Carol for Another Christmas, which strongly supports international interventionism, and at the time I mentioned there'd be more discussion to come. That discussion comes in the form of the Letters to the Editor section, which—unlike the reviewers—are strongly positive. Ruth Halfman of St. Louis writes to say she was "greatly moved," while C. Herbert Wolf Sr., who lives in Roswell, New Mexico, calls it the finest sermon he's ever heard, and adds that "it put the Christ in Christmas." George Oliver of Metairie, Louisiana thanks Xerox, writer Rod Serling, director Joseph L. Mankiewicz and ABC itself for "the best Christmas present of the year," and appreciates the lack of commercials.

Not everyone is so sanguine, though; George W. Coughenour of San Bernardino, California congratulates everyone involved for "a wonderful piece of Communist propaganda," and Frances K. Samuels of New Caanan, Connecticut complains that "Rod Serling laid the blame for all the world's wars and ills on the American doorstop."

Perhaps the most ironic letter comes from Linda Love of Pensacola, Florida. In its entirety: "My husband spent the last few months in Vietnam. After seeing this program I won't have to ask why. Thank God we Americans care enough for our fellow man to fight to free him from oppression." Why do I call it ironic? Well, the conventional wisdom, for what it's worth—certainly for Mr. Coughenour, as well as Daniel Grudge, the Scrooge-like character played by Sterling Hayden in the show—is that those who like the show and support the mission of the UN are nothing more than bleeding-heart activist liberals. And yet within three years, many of those same liberals will be marching through the street, chanting "What are we fighting for?" and Muhammad Ali is saying "I ain't got nothing against those Viet Cong." Even the UN turns against the war.

TV Guide says that letters are running "about 6 to 1" in favor of the UN series. I wonder, if they were to revisit those letter writers in 1968, how many of them would feel the same way?

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Finally, a note from Richard Warren Lewis' article on the development of the ABC series Peyton Place. It is said that the idea to air the show twice-a-week was inspired by twice-weekly soap opera Coronation Street "that was aired on British television and earned huge ratings." I'm sure Lewis didn't mean to refer to Coronation Street in the past tense, as if it weren't on television anymore. It premiered on ITV on December 9, 1960, and at the time of this article had been on for just over four years.

Peyton Place, which debuted on ABC September 15, 1964, would run to June 1969, and then was resurrected for a daytime run on NBC in the early '70s. Coronation Street, on the other hand, remains a British institution, more than 60 years after its debut and still going strong, with over 10,000 episodes under its belt. Something which we can all only dream of. TV  

This week in TV Guide: August 10, 1963

There's no single dominant story this week, so we're just going to skip around a bit and see what we can come up with. OK with you all?

I've Got a Secret was on the cover of a lot of TV Guides. The game show was on the air for fifteen seasons, from 1952 to 1967, and with five strongly identifiable personalities on the show, there was plenty of material to fill the six issues that featured the show.

In this issue, the focus is on Henry Morgan, who ws with the show for virtually its entire run.  Not many people remember him anymore, but from the 40s through the 60s, Henry Morgan was the L'enfant terrible of radio and TV. He was a witty and intelligent satirist, a stylish presence on television, the host of several several programs of his own and guest on many more.  He was also a cantankerous presence, a misogynist ("Women should be very attractive and never taught to read.  The trouble with the average woman is that she's a little below average."), an egomaniac, a man with a cruel streak who found it impossible not to wind up in clashes with sponsors, costars, and anyone else who crossed his path.  There were those who praised him while others lined up to bury him. He was, I think, perpetually one step away from finding himself having to look for another job at another network; next year he'll be on NBC as one of the hosts of the American version of That Was The Week That Was.

In the "Things Aren't What They Used to Be" category, Shirl Conway, one of the stars of the CBS series The Nurses, must have said something in her profile a couple of weeks past, judging by the letter to the editor from Myrt Ober of Caldwell, NJ: "As a 'psychologically miserable' housewife, Miss Conway may I say I create more in one day of being a wife, mother and homemaker than you probably create in a whole month of acting. If loving and caring for one man and his children, decorating and running a home, not minding grime and dirt of hard work, yet keeping as attractive as possible, is losing her identity, there are many nameless women in this wonderful country of ours."  After a season, The Nurses became The Doctors and the Nurses, and storylines began to be carried by the male castmembers.  The Nurses wound up as a daytime soap opera, with the same characters but played by different actresses.

And Edith Efron, in the story headlined on top of the cover, asks the question "Why the Timid Giant [television, in this case] Treads Softly," and speculates that television shies away from controversial subject matter and investigative reporting because of "anxiety and fear of the Government's latent power over the industry [inhibiting[ broadcasters from digging more deeply into public-affairs subjects."  The FCC, the industry's federal investigative agency, is accused of "throwing its weight around inexcusably," and broadcasters are said to fear having their licenses yanked if they stir up too much trouble.  Since then, networks seem to have gotten a lot more comfortable tackling controversy and pointing investigative fingers - at least against one side of the political aisle.

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Let's see what's going on this week.

A few years ago, back when The AV Club was actually interesting instead of being a shill for left-wing causes, their TV critic Todd VanDerWerff did some very good writing on classic TV shows. One of those was The Defenders, which this week (Saturday, 7:30 p.m. CT, CBS) features part one of the two-part episode "Madman," starring Don Gordon as a death-row inmate who not only wants to die, he wants his mother there to witness it.

VanDerWerff cited this episode as an example of the series' defiance of the "wrap-it-up-neatly-in-50-minutes" method of so many programs, then and now, calling it "the kind of episode that would have a hard time making it through network notes sessions in the present, but the combination of CBS head William Paley’s largess, [producer Herbert] Brodkin’s clout, and [writer Reginald] Rose’s creative genius resulted in the heart-rending episode making it on the air in 1962, right in the middle of the period when television grew most ashamed of itself." This episode won two Emmys when the awards were presented at the end of the season; for those who missed it, they can check out part one on Saturday.  (Note the drawing of Gordon in the Close Up, rather than a picture.  TV Guide did arty things like this from time to time.)

Sunday night features a couple of interesting prospects; at 6:30 p.m. The Jetsons presents one of those most meta of storylines: the person who mistakes the filming of a TV show for the real thing. In this case, George witnesses an armored space-car robbery and overhears the hoods talking about rubbing out the witnesses. Little does he know it's all a scene from a TV police show. Confusion and hilarity ensue. (I seem to recall a similar storyline on Top Cat.) I don't remember this episode; maybe someone who's seen it can tell us if the cartoon was lampooning any police series in particular. At 7:00 p.m., CBS has a rerun of the Sullivan show, which was taped at the U.S. base at Guantanamo in Cuba. (Considering what's been going on there over the last year or so, it must have been a fairly tense atmosphere.) A good lineup: Connie Francis, Louis Armstrong, Carol Lawrence, Jack Carter, Frank Fontaine, and comedy pantomimist George Carl. Too bad The Hollywood Palace isn't on yet; I'll bet Ed would have whipped them this week.

On Monday, CBS has Comedy Hour Specials at 8:00 p.m., which sounds suspiciously like one of those summer anthology shows comprised of reruns and failed pilots. In this case, it's a rerun from 1960, "Just Polly and Me," which presents an interesting premise that also touches on the meta: Polly Bergen and Phil Silvers have just completed a TV show, and they're reviewing how some of the bits could have been better - whereupon they act out those bits in new and improved fashion. Nat Hiken, who wrote Silvers' great Bilko series, is the writer for this show as well. Here's a clip from it:


NBC repeats last year's Milton Berle special (8:30 p.m., NBC), with Berle hosting a throwback-style show with Jack Benny, Lena Horne, Janis Paige, and Laurence Harvey.

Tuesday it's Keefe Brasselle's variety show (9:00 p.m., CBS), with guests Felicia Sanders and Jules Munshin. Ann B. Davis and former boxer Rocky Graziano are among the regulars. There's nothing particularly interesting about this show in itself, just a chance to be reminded of one of the odder, more colorful characters in the entertainment business. Back a couple of years ago, Kliph Nesteroff wrote a very good bit on the remarkable story of Brasselle and his relationship with CBS and network honcho Jim Aubrey.

Bing Crosby appeared in one of his non-holiday specials on Wednesday night on NBC, with guests Bob Hope, Edie Adams, the Smothers Brothers, Pete Fountain, and Bing's son Gary.  "Leisure Time" is the theme, and I can't think of anyone who'd epitomize it better than Bing. (Keeping in tune with so many of this week's programming, it's a rerun from last year.) Pete Fountain (who died last year, I think; truly one of the greatest jazz clarinetists ever) is also the guest on Steve Allen's late-night show (10:30 p.m., WCCO), along with Bobby Vinton, and two of baseball's greats: Maury Wills of the Dodgers, and Orlando Cepada of the Giants.

On Thursday, Mel Tormé is one of the guests on The Lively Ones (8:30 p.m., NBC), the summer replacement for the sitcom Hazel, hosted by Vic Damone. That's followed at 9:00 p.m. by "The World of Maurice Chevalier," a look at the French star's career on his 74th birthday. Alexander Scourby is the narrator, which makes me wonder if this might be part of NBC's "Project XX" (variously seen as "Project 20") series of documentariesb, several of which were narrated by Scourby, who had the proverbial voice that could read the phone book* and still be interesting. And at 9:00 p.m. on CBS, it's the aforementioned The Nurses, with Keenan Wynn as a star comedian who's not laughing - because Shirl Conway's character, Liz, refuses to wait on his every beck and call.

*It occurs to me to ask: you do remember phone books, don't you?

For the best in female forms, there's the "International Beauty Spectacular," Friday from Long Beach (9:00 p.m., NBC), hosted by Lorne Greene. (Of course, we all know there's no way the star of NBC's Bonanza is about to appear on any other network.) I'd never heard of this pageant which "departs from the usual pose-and-interview contest by showcasing the contestants from 46 countries in the trappings of a theatrical production," including two brand-new songs by Meredith Willson, composer of The Music Man. Couldn't find out much about this pageant - not even who won it - or if it's still around in some form, but this was the 12th spectacular, and I found a listing for it as late as 1966, so make of that what you will. I wonder, the way things are going at the Miss America pageant, if we won't be saying the same thing about that in a few years?

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The networks are looking at ramping up their coverage of the civil rights struggle. You'll recall that two or three weeks ago I wrote about the 1968 issue of TV Guide where it seemed as if almost every night featured another special on civil rights and race relations, which tells you a little bit about just how big this issue is and how long it's been dominating the conversation in this country.

ABC has already announced a series of five half-hour specials on Sunday nights under the umbrella title "The Crucial Summer," the first episode of which airs this Sunday (although I don't see any indication that KMSP is showing it this week - maybe later, when it doesn't interfere with shows that could bring in more local commercial revenue). NBC's plans are the most spectacular; a three-hour prime-time documentary on Labor Day evening, talking about the struggle. According to TV Guide's Henry Harding, this will be the first time a network has ever preempted its entire evening schedule for a news documentary. CBS's one-hour special on how the media covers the race issue will be aired on August 21.

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The "Letter to the Editor of the Week" award has to go to Mrs. Condon S. Bush, of Augusta, Wisconsin, who writes, "I suggest that the game-show producers do a better job of picking the celebrity guests. Sometimes I wonder how the emcee is able to control the show when it is being usurped by some supposed celebrity. Perhaps it is the celebrities who should be screened." Ouch!

Finally, I got a kick out of this ad for an appearance by "The Stars of TV's Rawhide!" Clint Eastwood and Paul Brinegar, at a rodeo at St. Paul's Midway Stadium.

As the character "Wishbone," Brinegar was with Rawhide for the show's entire seven-season run, as part of a long and successful Hollywood career as a character actor.  I'm not sure what happened to the other guy, though. TV