This week in TV Guide: May 21, 1955

This week's "Back in the Day" item: live television covearge of an atom bomb blast. 

It was called "Operation Q," the involvement of an NBC-CBS pooled crew of 95 technicians, engineers, announcers and photographers in Yucca Flat, Nevada*, for the planned detonation of an atomic bomb. The plan brought such media luminaries as Charles Collingwood, Dave Garroway, Walter Cronkite, John Cameron Swayze, Morgan Beatty, Sarah Churchill, and John Daly from New York to the frigid (28 degrees) site for an event that was to become "the highest rated show never to go on the air." 

*Yes, the same Yucca Flat as in the immortal MST3K movie The Beast of Yucca Flats.

Collingwood (CBS) and Garroway (NBC) were there for their networks' respective morning shows, with the plan of showing not only the blast itself, but the instant reactions from those hunched in a trench less than two miles (!) from the 500-foot steel tower holding the bomb. The technicians had arrived five days ahead of the scheduled April 26 date to set up their equipment, including seven cameras and a microwave route to Las Vegas, from which the picture would be transmitted via cable to Los Angeles. 

Only one problem with this carefully planned scenario: it doesn't happen. Apparently even the prospect of nuclear war is dependent on things being glitch-free, and Operation Q was far from that. The test was plagued with postponment after postponment, with each one causting the networks $5,000 per day, in addition to the original $80,000 setup cost. Finally, after the seventh postponment, the networks pulled the plug on the planned coverage; everyone headed home, leaving just one camera crew behind to cover the event, which finally came off on May 5.

You're probably quite familiar with this atomic bomb test; you've seen it many times, even if you weren't aware of it. This was the test in which the military built a replica town in Yucca Flat, complete with "furnished homes, industrial buildings, and clothed mannequins." The journalists covering the test called it "Doom Town," (I can see why that wasn't included in the TV Guide story.) The film of the explosion and its effect on the town have been a standard part of nuclear blast warnings ever since, and even after all these years pictures of it never fail to shock:

Life magazine did an extensive layout of the effecs of the test on Doom Town, which you can see here. It's sobering, to say the least. It's also quite understandable that television would want to cover something like it; it was yet another example of the awesome power made availabe by science, and being unleashed by man. True, you could have seen it in a newsreel in your local theater, but the idea of bringing this into one's home to share with viewers—well, I suppose it was meant to be both frightening and reassuring at the same time. (Send a message to those Russkies, you know.) I'm not quite sure what today's equivalent would be. 

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It would be nice if I had something clever to follow up with here, something like a story about the biggest television bombs of the year, but I'm afraid the best I can do is another story on the effect violent (but non-atomic) television has on children, this one by Tennessee Senator Estes Kefauver. Kefauver, who previously garnered headlines for his investingation into organized crime, is now looking at juvenile deliquency, and while TV has been helpful in calling attention to this situation, there's still work to be done. 

Understand, Kefauver is not a critic of television in the way that so many others are in the 1950s. Indeed, the medium has been very kind to him; television coverage of his committee's hearings on organized crime was a hit, catapulting him to national prominence (his victory in the 1952 New Hamphsire presidential primary encouraged President Harry Truman to drop out of the race), and the publicity for his deliquency hearings promises to keep him in the headlines. Personally, Kefauver and his family enjoy television, with practical restrictions. "In my family, there is one rule for all four of my children. They must do their homework before they are permitted to watch TV. Then they may watch till bedtime." The youngest aren't allowed to watch programs with violence, but his older kids (9 and 13) can watch whatever they want. "There are travelogs, historical shows, programs of news and current events. Generally speaking, television does a fine job." 

This wouldn't be much of a story if all the news was good, though, and Kefauver insists that, for the recent progress television has made, there's still too much violence being portrayed. There are other effects that concern him as well; to those who claim that police shows like Dragnet teach kids that crime doesn't pay, Kefauver counters that it can send a mixed message. "The boy, in the training school for a relatively minor infraction, sometimes sits up and comments, 'Hey, I didn’t do anything nearly as bad as that and the law sent me here for even longer.' So those programs teach some boys they can commit lots worse offenses and pay no heavier penalty."

He also thinks that, while censorship is wrong, the government should be stronger in creating overall standards, and that stations violating the voluntary Code of Good Practice should be reported to the FCC. "It should be evidence to be considered at license renewal time." He also believes that too many producers of filmed shows subscribe to the Code, and that one answer might be for the industry to form a board of review, similar to that in existence for movies, which can issue a seal of approval for shows that comply with its guidelines. 

I don't know; it sometimes gets tiresome looking at these stories on TV and violence. They come up so regularly, and after an initial flurry of activity nothing really seems to change. And ten years from now, in the mid-60s, we'll be talking about what effect Saturday mornng superhero cartoons have on kids. But it's a sign of the culture, of how important this issue seems to people, that it keeps coming up.

There's also something interesting about Kefauver and television; as I mentioned earlier, he was one of the first politicians to realize the potential for TV to expand the reach of candidates for high office. As in 1952, he's one of the front-runners for the Democratic presidential nomination again in 1956, again losing out to Adlai Stevenson. But when Stevenson leaves the choice of running mate up to convention delegates, he engages in a spirited contest wth young Massachusetts Senator John F. Kennedy, another advocate for the power of television in politics, with Kefauver eventually winning out. Had he chosen to run a third time, he would have been one of the favorites, and again would have clashed with Kennedy; he decides against it, though. Ironically, he dies in 1963—just as Kennedy does. 

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Ah, you ask—but what's actually on TV this week? 

Remember You Are There, the program that recounted historical events as if they were being covered on television? It started on radio in 1947, where it continued until 1950, and then moved to television in 1953, and ran until 1957, with Walter Cronkite as host. (There was also a brief revival as a Saturday morning show in 1971.) This week, Cronkite and crew cover the sinking of the Titanic (Sunday, 6:30 p.m., CBS). Now, as you know, I've always been fascinated by related to the Titanic, so you'd expect me to bring this up, right? For good measure, here's the link to the broadcast. Not quite as spectacular, perhaps, as Kraft Television Theatre's live production of A Night to Remember the following year, but it will certainly do.

Keeping with the nautical theme, Ed Sullivan and his guests salute Armed Forces Week onboard the USS Wisconsin on Toast of the Town (8:00 p.m., CBS); Ed's guests include balladeer Burl Ives (who's currently in the Tennessee Williams play Cat on a Hot Tin Roof *) with the Arizona Boys Choir; Carol Haney, a star in The Pajama Game; comedian Jack E. Leonard; singer June Valli; British comedian Richard Hearne; jugglers The Balladinis; and the Marines drill team, along with the band of the Wisconsin. Ed's competition is Promenade (7:30 p.m., NBC), a Max Liebman color review, hosted by Tyrone Power, with actresses Judy Holliday, Barbara Baxley, and Janet Blair; dancers Bambi Linn and Rod Alexander; singers Kay Starr and Jack Russell; and comedian Herb Shriner. Who do you give the edge to there?

*Ironically, the movie version, which Ives is also in, comes out in 1958, the same year as The Big Country, for which Burl wins a Best Supporting Actor Oscar; good year for him.

On Monday, Today (7:00 a.m., NBC) continues a series of reports on the upcoming British parlimentary elections, to be held on Thursday, with Edwin Newman in London. Edward R. Murrow is also in London for the elections, and he'll be presenting his report on See It Now (Tuesday, 10:30 p.m., CBS) The contenders are the current Prime Minister, Anthony Eden, and Labour leader (and former Prime Minister) Clement Attlee. You can tell the hightened interest in the elections here in the United States; Winston Churchill, America's favorite prime minister, had retired just the previous month, with his successor, Eden, calling a snap election to obtain a mandate. He gets it, as the Conservativs win a 60 seat majority; Eden himself will resign less than two years later following the Suez debacle. See how much history you can learn here?

Walt Disney shows us what he does best on this week's Disneyland (would that Disney would do that today), with a preview of the upcoming animated movie Lady and the Tramp, feauting ◀Peggy Lee recording several of the voices she does for the movie. (Wednesday, 7:30 p,m., ABC). There's also a montage of cartoons featuring Pluto, celebrating his 24th year in movies. Meanwhile, on Kraft Television Theatre (9:00 p.m., NBC), we get a look at the early pre-Bewitched career of Dick York, who plays a rookie major league pitcher in "Million Dollar Rookie." 

Burl Ives is back on TV Friday morning as Jack Paar's guest on The Morning Show (7:00 a.m., CBS), and again, he's described as a balladeer—the thesaurus must not have been at arm's length this week. (No mention of his acting career, though.) Today (7:00 a.m., NBC) presents a roundup of the British elections, as I imagine the other news programs will also. And in non-British politics, Margaret Truman guest hosts for Murrow on Person to Person (10:30 p.m., CBS); you can read more about that in my Monday piece.

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And now, away we go with Gleason's million-dollar baby, Audrey Meadows, profiled by Kathy Pedell.

The Great One recently signed a contract with his sponsor and with CBS that amounts to $11,000,000, and for playing Ralph Kramden's long-suffering wife Alice, Audrey gets approximately one-eleventh of that—in other words, a cool million. It hasn't changed her that much, though; she bought a few good things ("I didn't feel too guilty when I bought my (first) mink stole"), and bought a new bedspread and some drapes for the three-room apartment that she used to share with her sister, Jayne, before Jayne married Steve Allen; Audrey says she's planning to stay there. But in case the temptation gets too strong, most of her cash was tied up by her lawyer brothers in investments; she admits she had more spending money when she was earning $75 a week.

Who says they're not a couple of dolls?

The two sisters, who have a close relationship in a business that's been known to drive wedges between celebrity siblings, have "Audrey" and "Jayne" dolls hitting the market this summer, they're also doing some recording and endorsing products. It's best not to take things for granted, Audrey says; "You may be in favor for three years—or 10—and then you may be out."

Getting the Gleason gig wasn't particularly straightforward; "[H]e had never seen me act, he had never heard of me, except from my manager. He didn’t know if I could act." And when her manager first suggested Audrey to Gleason, he vetoed her on the grounds that she was too pretty. "Alice has gotta be a mess," he said. Whereupon she brought in some photographers for a candid session. "My hair was uncombed, I wore my oldest clothes, a torn apron and no make-up. Then I stood in the kitchen and fried eggs. I looked awful. Even the eggs didn't look edible." When Gleason saw the pictures, and confirmed that it was Audrey, he said, "Any girl who would let herself be seen like that for a job deserves it."

Oh, and those lawyer brothers that Pedell mentioned at the outset? Well, as it turns out, brother Edward inserted a clause into that contract with Gleason providing that, should the Honeymooners episodes ever be rebroadcast, Audrey would receive a payment for them. Over time, she earned millions of dollars in residuals from the "Classic 39." She would be the only cast member to do so; only when the "lost" episodes were later released would anyone else receive them. Sometimes, it pays to have your brothers look after you.

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It might only interest me—I mean, let's face it, that's what this blog is all about—but I enjoyed this brief articles showing us what goes into putting on the WCBS Late News, anchored by Ron Cochran. 

It's a different era for news broadcating. There are no computers, no satellite hookups, no video cameras allowing for live remote broadcasts. The remote footage is comprised of film which has to be brought back to the station, developed, and edited before it can be shown. There's nothing fancy about the WCBS News Department, a cramped space located on the top floor of the Grand Central Station Annex, "an aged combination of sprawling, corridor-like rooms and tiny, closet-like offices" filled with teletype machines, cameras and projectors, typewriters, writers and newsmen. There's a constant rush of people back and forth, loud, chaotic. Cochran, who arrives at his office at 5:00 p.m., is the picture of calm, a man "who never raises his voice, or lowers his tie." He will be in the eye of the storm until he goes on the air.

It begins with a review of the early newspapers and wire services. At 6:30 p.m. there's a brief break for dinner, and then watching the 7:30 Douglas Edwards national news for a look at the news film. The top eight or ten stories are selected and given to the editor. The latest news film is screened; there's this  description: "Cut out shots of mother crying over body of son, killed by car. Cut interview with cop; too funny for this tragedy." Not using the crying mother film shows a sensitivity that seems so alien to the "if it bleeds, it leads" culture, and I'd like to know what that cop interview was like. 

The stories are divided up and work commences on the script. There are worries that the film needed for two stories won't be available until 10 p.m.; it arrives at 9:27, a triumph for everyone. The first run-through is at 10:05; the show runs 30 seconds too long. A story is cut, the teleprompter is edited, the cues in the script are changed. An additional story is added at 10:20, "just in case we run short." Cochran heads to the studio for makeup at 10:27. Camera cues are reviewed. Twenty minutes before airtime, a story requires updating; it's too late to change the teleprompter copy so Cochran will have to read the story from the script.

Finally, at 11 p.m., it's airtime. The theme runs, the announcer makes the intro, Cochran begins. Cues fly from the control room. Film is inserted into the broadcast. Cochran receives updates on timing. Fifteen minutes later, after the last story runs; "That's the news. Good night, all." It's 11:15 p.m, time for The Late Show.

Do you think Ted Baxter could have handled it all?

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Last but not least, the shape of things to come, from the TV Teletype: "A long-time top-rated Los Angeles show, LAWRENCE WELK and his "champagne music," makes its network bow Sunday, July 2, on ABC." It remains in first-run, in one form or another, until 1982, and in reruns forever after. TV  

This week in TV Guide: August 14, 1965

ABC News has a problem: nobody watches its nightly news program. They hope they have the solution: Peter Jennings.

At age 28, the boy wonder is set to take on Walter Cronkite and Huntley and Brinkley as he assumes the reins of ABC's 15-minute evening news program.* Ron Cochran, who anchored ABC's news during the JFK assassination drama, has been shuttled off to radio, and in selecting the young Canadian who still has to remin    d himself that it's "lieutenant" and not "leftenant" and that the Marine band does not play "Anchors Aweigh," ABC has passed over the likes of Howard K. Smith, Edward P. Morgan, and John Scali; all news veterans, all Americans.

*While CBS and NBC expanded their newscasts to 30 minutes in 1963, it wouldn't be until 1967 that ABC would follow suit.

Jennings isn't really comfortable with the role (even less so with his name as part of the program's title (Peter Jennings with the News), and ABC had to accept his demands that he be allowed to travel to cover the news on location as much as possible. Still, just over six months into his term as anchor, it's clear that he'd rather be out in the field all the time; he sees himself not as an anchor, but as a reporter. "I'm a newsman," he tells Neil Hickey, and he's sensitive toward the impression, as someone put it, that he's the network's "glamorcaster." He's sanguine about it, though. "If I blow this show—and that possibility exists equally with the possibility that I'll succeed—I'm still young enough to come back and make another name for myself."

Indeed he is. Despite ABC's confidence in the young man, truth be told, his first stint as anchor is less than a success. He never really does make a dent in the ratings of the Big Two, and after three years he quits the anchor desk to become a foreign correspondent. It's there that Jennings shines, covering various crises in the Middle East, including the Munich Olympic massacre. He returns to the States briefly as anchor for ABC's failed morning program A.M. America, after which he becomes the network's chief foreign correspondent. When ABC introduces World News Tonight, he holds down the foreign desk in London, along with Frank Reynolds in Washington and Max Robinson in Chicago. After Reynolds' death in 1983, he once again assumes the anchor chair, and this time it sticks. He will remain on World News Tonight, leading ABC to first place in the ratings, until his own death in 2005.

I wrote a piece at the other blog a few months before Jennings died; at the time, he was considered part of the Big Three along with Dan Rather and Tom Brokaw. That's all well and good, I wrote then, but to tell the real story of Peter Jennings, one had to consider him "the last reminder of the era of Chet Huntley, David Brinkley, and Walter Cronkite," and added that "That should put things in perspective."

Look at the picture of Jennings above: earnest, somewhat doubtful, painfully young. When ABC hired Jennings back in 1965, he was introduced as the network's answer to Cronkite, Huntley and Brinkley. As unlikely as it may have seemed back then, even to Peter Jennings, that's exactly the way it turned out.

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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: Ed welcomes comedian Alan King; Metropolitan Opera soprano Birgit Nilsson; comics Marty Allen and Steve Rossi; singer Shari Lewis; the rock 'n' rolling Animals; impressionist George Kirby; South Vietnamese singer Bach Yenh; the Haslevs, trampoline artists; and Ravic and Babs, roller skaters.  Also: Rex Harrison, Audrey Hepburn and Wilfred Hyde White in a clip from the movie version of My Fair Lady.

Palace: Folk singer Burl Ives introduces Edgar Bergen, Charlie McCarthy and Edgar's 18-year-old daughter Candy; operatic soprano Anna Moffo; singer-dancer Ann Miller; comic Pat Henry; Rih Aruso, bicycle-balancer; and the Baranton Sisters, jugglers.

This is where we see Ed at his best. I know these shows weren't scheduled against each other when they originally aired, but it's as if Ed's playing "anything you can do, I can do better." Palace has comedian Pat Henry? Ed tops them with Alan King. You want opera? Palace has Anna Moffo; Ed counters with Birgit Nilsson. Academy Award-winner Burl Ives? What about Academy Award-winning film My Fair Lady, with Oscar winner Rex Harrison to boot? Strangely-named foreign acts? How better to beat Rih Aruso then with Bach Yenh? Palace has Ann Miller, Ed counters with The Animals. Palace has a pretty good lineup, but Ed's is better. Sullivan shows 'em who's boss.

And it's bonus week!  Al Hirt, the summer substitute for Jackie Gleason, is back with another original lineup that in a lesser week might have taken top honors. Al's guests on Saturday night (6:30 p.m., CBS) include Liza Minnelli, country singer Johnny Tillotson, Little Richard and the Imperials, and Jackie Vernon. Even here, Palace can't get a break; while they have Burl Ives, Sam the Snowman in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, in a few years Jackie Vernon will be the voice of Frosty the Snowman. It's just one of those weeks.

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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. 

I'm sure if we charged Cleveland Amory with being in full curmudgeon mode this week, our favorite critic would plead guilty, even with Perry Mason defending him. That's the show in the crosshairs, and Cleve acknowledges that "It would be nice to say that, after eight years on the air, the show has held up as well as Mr. Burr has." Alas, however, such is not the case, and Amory admits that "this is far from our favorite weekly hour."

At the outset, I'll stipulate that the Perry Mason of today is not the Perry Mason of the first few years. How could it be? There are only so many ways you can set up a courtroom drama, after all, and everyone involved in the show—the producers, the cast, and the freshness of the character—are that much older. Amory complains that many episodes are crammed not only with plots, but subplots and sub-subplots, and Burr himself had complained about needlessly complicated stories. And, adds Amory, "we've seen several plots here that we are convinced nobody believed—least of all the unfortunate actors who got the parts." Again, Burr himself would admit this is true. Amory doesn't quite accuse the actor of mailing his performances in, but he does suggest that Burr does his best acting in the opening credits. He still likes Barbara Hale and William Hopper, but he wishes Della Street and Paul Drake were in more of each episode.

So maybe Perry Mason isn't as good as it used to be. Maybe the stories are unbelievable, and the acting less than award-winning. But Cleve seems to ignore a central question: is the show still entertaining? There are shows I've given up on with only a season or two to go (Hawaii Five-O), and those I've stayed with to the end, with gritted teeth (77 Sunset Strip). In no instance have I ever been tempted to throw in the towel on Perry Mason, no matter how many times I've watched it. It is still entertaining—still fun, still comfortable, still better that most of the competition. If it's lost a step or two, well, then, so have I. To the accusation that I'm a fan of Perry Mason, I willingly plead guilty. But to the charge that, as Amory says, the show "can win, but lose winning," the verdict is: not guilty.

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On Thursday night, CBS' legal drama The Defenders presents "Eyewitness," in which E.G. Marshall defends "two youths who have openly committed murder—confident that no one would try to stop them." The "no one" includes 27 witnesses, "average citizens who didn't bother to interfere, shout for help or call the police."

The premise of "Eyewitness"—the 27 people who didn't want to get involved—bears obvious similarities to the 1964 murder of Kitty Genovese in which 38 witnesses saw the fatal attack on the 28-year-old barmaid, who was stabbed to death just outside her apartment building in the Kew Gardens neighborhood of Queens. Two weeks after the murder, The New York Times ran a front-page story on how 38 witnesses had seen the attack on Genovese and had ignored her cries for help, watching as the young woman died on the pavement after having been attacked three times by her assailant. The Genovese murder, and the attendant publicity created an international firestorm of publicity, as well as a cottage industry exploring the sociological study of what came to be known as the "Genovese Syndrome"; the case "became a staple of U.S. psychology textbooks for the next four decades." Books and articles were written, studies were conducted, movies were made. As the TV Guide close-up notes, "Incidents of public apathy toward crime in the streets are becoming shockingly frequent." 

Except.

Not long after the initial story, questions began to be raised regarding accuracy of the Times coverage, particularly the claim that "38 witnesses" had seen or heard the attack and failed to do anything about it.* The story had been personally pushed by Times editor Abe Rosenthal, who saw an opportunity for the newspaper to capitalize on its sensational aspects. Indeed, the Times had been the main propellant in making the relatively obscure murder into an international story. However, such was the position and influence of Rosenthal that many journalists kept those questions to themselves. Gabe Pressman, a reporter for WNBC and later a journalism teacher, raised some of the doubts he'd heard, and was berated by Rosenthal.

*There never was any doubt as to the identity of the killer: Winston Moseley, who was convicted of the rape and murder of Genovese and confessed to at least one other murder. His death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment, and he died in 2016 at the age of 81, having served 52 years in prison—the longest of any New York state prisoner then incarcerated.

Over the years, doubts continued to accumulate, as researchers began assembling the pieces of disparate stories told by those who'd lived in the neighborhood, and compared them to the records of the police, the contemporary interviews with eyewitnesses, and the accounts appearing in the Times and other newspapers. Some people with first-hand knowledge of what had happened had never even been interviewed by police, and others said their comments weren't taken seriously. 

Finally, in 2014, Kevin Cook's provocative book Kitty Genovese: The Murder, the Bystanders, the Crime That Changed America exposed the holes in the "official record" and presented a story far closer to what actually happened. There were never 38 witnesses to the crime; the number likely came from a "harried civil servant" who gave a number to the police commissioner who in turn passed it along to Rosenthal, who thought it would make a good story. There was at least one phone call to the police, and perhaps more; the dispatcher never logged the call that is known to have been made. The attack took place near a bar where domestic arguments had been known to spill out into the street; some thought that's what was going on, while others couldn't make it out at all.

Genovese was actually attacked twice, not three times; Moseley fled when a man shouted at him from an open window but returned after Genovese rounded the corner to the rear entrance of her apartment building. That meant that, according to Cook, "most [witnesses] could no longer see her after just a minute or two. When there was nothing left to see, they went to bed and there was then a second attack." True, the one man who did see both attacks failed to call the police; according to Cook, he was a gay man who may have feared police persecution at a time when many organizations, including The New York Times, were inherently suspicious of homosexuals. (Although it wasn't made public until much later, Genovese herself was a lesbian.) In fact, Cook points out, no matter who you were, "It was a time when the police weren't necessarily your friend." And Genovese didn't die alone on the street; a neighbor ran out to comfort her and stayed with her until the ambulance arrived; she died on the way to the hospital.

In 2016, the Times appended an Editor's Note to the online version of its 1964 article, stating that, "Later reporting by The Times and others has called into question significant elements of this account," and printed a series of corrections, ultimately pronouncing the original story "flawed." More than one critic has suggested that the Times coverage would today be considered "fake news."

I wonder how The Defenders would have covered that story?

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Thursday is also the scheduled date for the launch of Gemini V, the third manned Gemini flight. Rookie astronaut Pete Conrad is teamed with Gordon Cooper, a "veteran" who flew the final Mercury flight in 1963; he was also the last American launched on an entirely solo orbital mission. 

We're far from the time when the public will take manned space flight for granted, and the networks are onboard for comprehensive coverage, beginning the night before the flight, when CBS (6:30 p.m. CT), ABC (9:30 p.m.), and NBC (9:45 p.m.) present previews of the flight and the goals of Project Gemini; the flight is scheduled for eight days, twice the length of Gemini IV, and approximating the time for the Apollo spacecraft to make its round-trip journey to the moon and back. Liftoff is to take place at 9:00 a.m. the following morning, with all three networks beginning their coverage at 6:00 a.m., and remaining on the air through the first few hours of the flight. Jules Bergman anchors for ABC, while Walter Cronkite and Mike Wallace do the honors for CBS, and NBC is led by Chet Huntley, David Brinkley, Frank McGee, and Merrill Mueller. 

Just in case, though, the listings include alternate programming in the event the launch is postponed by a day or two, and it's a good thing it does, as the Thursday attempt is scrubbed due to a computer problem (a thunderstorm within a couple of miles of the launch pad might have resulted in a delay anyway). CBS remained on the air until 1:00 p.m., while ABC and NBC continued their coverage until 1:30. Everybody's back on Saturday, though, and the launch goes off without a hitch. Eight days later, the Gemini splashes down successfully, and the U.S. for the first time holds the record for the longest duration space flight.

While it's true that the Gemini V flight was an important step in the journey to the moon, it's still remarkable that the networks are providing so much coverage; Fred Friendly would later complain about what he called "an escalation just like the arms race," and said that with the exception of a manned flight to the moon, CBS would "no longer begin telecasting manned spaceflight coverage 'any earlier than a half-hour before launch.'" For Saturday's rescheduled launch, CBS would begin coverage at 8:30 a.m., 2½ hours later than NBC and 1½ hours after ABC. Setting aside the ridiculous way the all-news networks deal with even the most minor news story, can you imagine many events getting this kind of airtime today?

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Finally, a quick look at "For the Record" and the industry gossip:

First off, Mia Farrow is about to marry Frank Sinatra (go figure on that one), and the question is how the producers of Peyton Place plan to handle her absence while she's off on a cruise with Frank. Their answer: a hit-and-run accident that puts her character, Allison Mackenzie, in a coma. (One of those special four-week comas; ask for it the next time you're in the hospital.) If Farrow comes back from the cruise, as the producers expect, she'll snap out of it. If, on the other hand, she decides she'd rather be Mrs. Frank Sinatra instead, then—well, better off not thinking about it. (Don't worry, though: she pulls through in the end.)

Next, it's praise for Joey Bishop's performance as guest host for Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show. The only blemish on the record may have been the show featuring Bishop's fellow Rat-Packers, Sammy Davis, Jr. and the aforementioned Frank Sinatra. Many of the critics thought Joey was fawning excessively (is there any other kind?) over Frank, but according to TV Guide, they missed the tongue that Bishop had firmly placed within cheek. Well, nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the average television critic.

Sadly, a survey of TV Guides of the era will see Vietnam start to play a more and more visible role in programming, as we see with CBS' four-part "Vietnam Examination," airing on consecutive Mondays for the next month. Not to be outdone, ABC is countering later in the month with "The Agony in Vietnam," while NBC's "White Paper" on foreign policy next month will devote substantial time to Vietnam. Before much longer, that's about all they'll be talking about. (In fact, ABC's Sunday afternoon program ABC Scope will eventually be devoted exclusively to the war.)

And last but not least, some surprisingly hawkish comments from Hollywood on the war, which if nothing else shows how early in the conflict we really are. Raymond Burr, who's made more trips to Vietnam than anyone not named Bob Hope, is on an extensive speaking tour where he calls for an escalation against the Viet Cong; not surprising, considering his closeness to the American troops as a result of his visits. And Hope himself is congratulating Secretary of State Dean Rusk for speaking out on nations still doing business with North Vietnam. Says Hope, who's usually apolitical in things like this, "People seem to forget we're at war." They'll be remembering soon enough, Bob—trust me on that. TV  

This week in TV Guide: November 25, 1961

In 1962, Bob Dylan adapted a Canadian folk tune called "Peter Emberly" into a song which he titled "The Ballad of Donald White." It's not one of his more well-known songs, and he didn't perform it often, possibly because he only wrote the lyrics.

The song begins:

               My name is Donald White, you see,

               I stand before you all.

               I was judged by you a murderer

               And the hangman's knot must fall.

               I will die upon the gallows pole

               When the moon is shining clear,

               And these are my final words

               That you will ever hear.

In Anthony Scaduto biography of Dylan, a friend named Sue Zuckerman recounts the story behind the writing of the song. Zuckerman "recalls watching television* with [Dylan and Suze Rotolo] one night (February 12, 1962). The program was about crime and capital punishment—a film called 'A Volcano Named White.' A 24-year-old black man was sitting in his prison cell in Texas talking about his life, its oppression, his cries for help that were ignored, until he finally killed somebody and was now waiting to be executed. "Bobby just got up at one point," Miss Zuckerman says, "and he went off in the corner and started to write. He just started to write, while the show was still on, and the next thing I knew he had this song written, Donald White."

*WPIX in New York.

On Wednesday night at 8:00 PT, we see the original telecast of that documentary, The Volcano Named White, produced by Seattle's KING-TV and broadcast on its sister station, Portland's KGW. Scaduto's description of the show isn't quite on the mark; White's crime occurred not in Texas but in Washington State. But the bones of the story are there: on December 24, 1959, Don White was accused of the murder of two people, strangers he had never met: a white great-grandmother and a black longshoreman. White was arrested and tried for the crime, and in May 1960 a jury found him guilty and sentenced him to death. Today, he sits on death row in the state prison at Walla Walla, waiting while his appeal follows the process.

The story, narrated mostly by White himself, examines "the shortcomings of society which contribute to the creation of a criminal and killer" through the environment in which the 24-year-old White grew up: an intolerable childhood spent with an unbalanced foster mother, in and out of reformatories and jails, receiving medical treatment in various institutions. And yet White is also a talented writer and painter with an IQ of 120. And so the question is raised: how does a man like this wind up a brutal killer in the death house? 

You can see how Dylan would be tempted to romanticize White's plight, at a time when the civil rights issue is front and center. Look at how Scaduto accepts the  narriative that White sits imprisoned in Texas—don't things like this always happen in the South?

In fact, the murders which White committed aren't quite as romantic as the folk ballads would have it. In 1962, White appealed his death sentence to the Washington Supreme Court; the Court decision denying his appeal includes White's own description of the first murder, that of Mrs. Alice Jumper (my apologies to anyone who might be bothered by the graphic language):

		As I was passing the laundry room, I looked in and noticed a white woman doing something with some clothes. She was either folding or hanging up clothes. I decided to go into the laundry room to use the head. The woman had her back to me as I entered the door and was standing over by one of the dryers. I walked past the woman into the back and tried the door to the head but it was locked. I then turned around and started back out. When I got even with the woman I just punched her with my fist knocking off her glasses and knocking her to the floor. The glasses slid across the floor to a spot near the door. The woman wasn't knocked unconscious by my blow and she grabbed me around the legs and by one hand. I then lifted her up off the floor real fast and fairly high so that her legs flew up in the air. I then dropped her and her head hit the cement floor before the rest of her body. The woman still wasn't unconscious and was trying to get up. I then picked her up and took her back into a small storage room. I laid her down on the cement floor on her back with her head toward the door. She still wasn't unconscious so I hit her three or four times with my fists in her face. She didn't move anymore then except she sort of raised her arm and I removed her watch and ring. I then started to leave but then came back to where she was lying. I had earlier torn off her panties and had ripped her dress so when I got back into the room I had sexual intercourse with her. I had intercourse with her for about a minute but did not reach a climax. I would describe this woman as being about 45 or 46 yrs. of age with grayish black hair and with a stocky build. I don't remember what kind of clothes she was wearing. As I walked back out of the storage room, I noticed the woman's glasses laying near the door. I picked them up and put them in a laundry tub nearby.

To top things off, White would, later that day, murder black longshoreman Willie Leroy Dixon at Seattle's Yesler Terrace Housing Project. Keep in mind that this murder, as well as the subsequent murder White committed, occurred on Christmas Eve. White was convicted of first-degree murder in Mrs. Jumper's death, and second-degree murder for the death of Dixon.

White's appeal does not claim innocence; the above, after all, comes from his own confession. Instead, the appeal is based on several technical issues, including White's confession having been recorded without his knowledge, and the refusal of the trial judge to permit psychiatric testimony that had been obtained under the influence of truth serum, which would have enabled the jury to "better understand the basis of the psychiatrist's opinion that [White] had a psychotic reaction which was chronic, recurrent, and episodic." Although White's appeal was denied and the U.S. Supreme Court refused to get involved, a subsequent appeal was upheld in U.S. District Court, overturning White's conviction and ordering a new trial, which occurred in 1966 and resulted once again in White's conviction, and this time a sentence of two concurrent life terms. Washington Governor Daniel Evans commuted White's sentence to time served on June 30, 1972. 

Bob Dylan's song ends with the following lines:

               But there's just one question

               Before they kill me dead,

               I'm wondering just how much

               To you I really said

               Concerning all the boys that come

               Down a road like me,

               Are they enemies or victims

               Of your society?

To the best of my knowledge, neither Dylan nor anyone else wrote a song upon White's release. 

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There are other, less volatile, programs on this week. 

For most of the country, this weekend's top college football matchup pits undefeated Ohio State against bitter archrival Michigan, but you can probably tell by the way this sentence begins that such will not be the case in this week's issue. Yes, out West, viewers are getting the battle for the Apple Cup between Washington State and Washington, live from Seattle. (Saturday, 1:15 p.m., ABC) Washington, winner of last season's Rose Bowl, enters the game with a record of 4-4-1, while Washington State, led by end Hugh Campbell (who will win five consecutive Grey Cup championships as a coach of the Edmonton Eskimos) is 3-6. Maybe it's not Ohio State-Michigan, but it's a tight game anyway, won by Washington 21-17. 

Later Saturday (8:30 p.m., CBS), The Defenders presents an intriguing situation: the Prestons (E.G. Marshall, Robert Reed) defend a man (Edward Binns) who was arrested for a murder committed during a robbery. He then suffered a complete nervous breakdown, and has spent the last 25 years in a mental hospital. He's now being released—and he'll be put on trial for the crime. The premise reminds me a lot of the Naked City episode "Which Is Joseph Creeley?" which I wrote about here. (And, you'll note, my friend David Hofstede cited this episode in his comment on that piece. I love it!)

On Sunday (8:00 p.m., CBS), Ed Sullivan's guests are actor Richard Boone, singers Johnny Mathis, Sophie Tucker and Gloria Lynne, comedians Jackie Mason and Will Jordan, and country singers Deedy and Bill. Later, Hugh Downs appears as himself in Car54, Where Are You? (8:30 p.m., NBC)—Toody and Muldoon (Joe E. Ross, Fred Gwyne) nick Hugh for speeding, and try to leverage it into getting their friend on the Jack Paar show. (Hugh, by the way, fills in for Jack on Tuesday night.) 

One sure way to tell what the hot trends are is to watch kids shows; on Monday, the space race comes to Kukla and Ollie (5:00 p.m., KGW), as Kukla interviews the first "lady astronaut"—Beulah Witch. (Who beats Valentina Tereshkova into space by a good 18 months.) Jimmy Durante, playing himself, is special guest on The Danny Thomas Show (9:00 p.m., CBS), and Dennis Hopper is—what else?—a psychopathic killer on 87th Precinct. (9:00 p.m., NBC) No typecasting at all, right?

If you're a fan of MST3K, or schlock horror movies in general, you'll recognize the premise of Tuesday's Red Skelton Show (9:00 p.m., CBS), which features special guests Marie Windsor and John Carradine: in a sketch called "The Great Brain Robbery," Dr. Prager (Carradine) plans to send a gorilla into space with a human brain—George Appleby's (Red). Next, on the discussion show Family Castle, it's the first seasonal program of the year: a method of wrapping Christmas presents for mailing is shown. (9:30 p.m., KOAP)

A few months ago I wrote about the David L. Wolper documentary series Hollywood and the Stars; Wednesday we see the de facto pilot for that series, Hollywood: The Golden Years (7:30 p.m., NBC), a one-hour look at Hollywood's silent era, culminating with the premiere of The Jazz Singer. Gene Kelly narrates; Elmer Bernstein composed and conducted the music. If you're more interested in the present than the past, Steve Allen gives you a good reason to feel that way: special guest Sophia Loren. (7:30 p.m., ABC)

Some classy entertainment on Thursday, but you'll need two sets to catch them both. At 9:30 p.m. on NBC, Hallmark Hall of Fame presents "Victoria Regina," with Julie Harris as Queen Victoria, James Donald as Prince Albert, and Basil Rathbone as Disraeli. That takes you to 11:00, which means you'd miss all of Yves Montand on Broadway (10:00 p.m., ABC), as the French star teams up with Polly Bergen, John Raitt, Helen Gallagher, and Bobby Van. A pair of great shows, but they'll cost you Sing Along With Mitch and The Untouchables in return.

On Friday, Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic return with a new season of Young People's Concerts (7:30 p.m., CBS; the first in the series to be shown in primetime). Tonight's subject: "What is Impressionism?" No, it's not Rich Little or Frank Gorshin; it's the French composers Debussy and Ravel. (Follow the link to the video.) I'm sure this would be considered way too elitist for kids today. And Dinah Shore takes the prize for star power (9:30 p.m., NBC), with her guests Frankie Avalon, Nelson Eddy, and Milton Berle. And it's all brought to you by S&H Green Stamps!

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In addition to The Volcano Named White, a couple of other shows merit pullout status. First, NBC's occasional documentary series Now. . . In Our Time presents "The Good Ship Hope" (Tuesday, 7:30 p.m.), a look at the famed American hospital ship (privately financed) that travels around the world, spreading medicine and good will. Ralph Bellamy narrates, and in a separate article writes about the journey that he calls "one of the most dramatic experiences of my life."

The S.S. Hope spent nearly nine months in Indonesia and South Vietnam, "[providing] medical training—and some curing, operative and postoperative treatment" in the area. Bellamy recounts the conditions the doctors found, which left them "in something bordering on disbelief" as they toured Bien Vien Hospital in Saigon, as "hundreds of the lame and the blind were streaming in off the streets," waiting patiently for the doctors to get to them. Hope doctors became involved immediately, helping the overworked doctors treat some of the 2,500 patients they saw every day. From Saigon, the doctors headed to Can Tho, an area in which Vietcong guerrillas operated almost every night, and then to Phung-hiep, where guerrillas had attacked just two hours before. Bellamy describes how the villagers live in fear of the Communists—"[T]hese gentle people want no part of Communism. They are furiously opposing it. They're desperate for help. They are deeply moved by the American help being given through the SS Hope." It is, indeed, quite a story.

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Hope of another kind is the message of Billy Graham in his article "Spreading the Word Throughout the World," a tie-in to an NBC documentary The World of Billy Graham, that airs Wednesday at 10:00 p.m., almost as an antidote to The Volcano Named White. The documentary, narrated by Alexander Scourby, tells of how the North Carolina farm boy became a internationally-renowned evangelist and confidant of world leaders and presidents, and shows Graham both on the road and back home in Montreat, North Carolina.

"Christianity," writes Graham, "is a faith with a built-in compulsion to communicate. It is a secret that cannot be kept; a light that cannot be hidden; a dynamic that cannot be contained." Its progress began with the apostles traveling by ship and communicating the message via letters to Asia Minor and Europe; Gutenberg's press carried the Word through books written in the common language of the people. Radio enabled the Gospel to be taken to the ends of the world. And now, television: as the Chinese say, "A picture is worth a thousand words," and television, Graham writes, is the ideal medium to fulfill Christ's command that the Word should be proclaimed throughout the world. 

Graham relates how, during the 14 weeks in which his New York Crusade was televised Saturday nights on ABC, "scores and hundreds of people were brought to Christ and the church." One man, listening to the broadcast in a bar, "left his drink and ran to Madison Square Garden, where he took his place with those deciding for Christ." He then returned to the family from which he had been separated. A pharmacist 700 miles away locked up his store and traveled to New York; he's now studying for the ministry.

Television makes this evangelization possible, Graham says. In an era when the threat of Communism and its dedicated followers is omnipresent, it is only through a moral and spiritual awakening that the threat can be defeated. And Graham is convinced that "television, as the greatest means of communication, has a vast responsibility in the rekindling of spiritual values in the West." What more can you say to that besides "Amen"? TV