This week in TV Guide: April 24, 1971

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Once on a high and windy hill

     In the morning mist

     Two lovers kissed

     And the plot stood still

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

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

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

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

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

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

Henning with Granny (Irene Ryan)

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

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

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

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

Plimpton and The Duke

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

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

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

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

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

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

This week in TV Guide: March 17, 1973

You probably don't recognize the name Robert Alan Aurthur; it stands out for me because he wrote two of the episodes that appear in my upcoming book. While he never attained the fame of, say, Rod Serling, Reginald Rose, or Paddy Chayefsky, he was one of television's more prolific playwrights, writer of more than 20 teleplays for Golden Age-anthology series such as Philco-Goodyear Playhouse, Studio One, and Playhouse 90. This week, in a new series of articles called "The Way It Was," Aurthur shares some memories of working in the early days of television, especially one particular script for Philco Playhouse.

We often hear that term, "Golden Age" bandied about — I used it up there myself. And Aurthur is among the first to say that not everything that aired during that era was great. "Only some were great. Some were terrible. Most were just OK. But in each and every one we aspired, quality limited only by individual ability." That's a pretty good way to describe the era, I think. Writers wanted to produce high-quality work, even when they didn't. And, Aurthur points out, everything in those early years of anthologies was live. No repeats, no do-overs, no pauses in the action. And speaking of action, there were "No shoot-outs or punch-ups to resolve hokey melodrama — and no cars. In some 30 hours of drama I never wrote an automobile scene, and except perhaps for a walk-on or bit I never wrote a part for a doctor, lawyer or cop." I don't think network television could survive today under those limitations.

To illustrate what it was like back in those days, Aurthur points to a 1955 Philco script called "A Man is Ten Feet Tall." You might have heard of that, even if you don't know (or remember) what it was about. The inspiration for the drama, Aurthur says, came from a trip to the movies he made with a fellow writer, where he saw Blackboard Jungle, starring a young Sidney Poitier. He was struck by Poitier's work, his presence on the screen; he was also depressed that an actor of such obviou talent had such limited opportunities, merely because of the color of his skin. He remembered a short story he wrote, some years past, which could be adapted into a television play that could serve as a vehicle for Poitier.

In those days, he says, "there were no committees to convince, no network officials to consult, no elaborate outlines to write." He had only to convince the producer, Gordon Duff, who gave it the go-ahead with one provision: he couldn't ever remember a black actor playing the lead in a television play. His suggestion: "Write it without describing the guy as a Negro. Then, after we cast Poitier, it'll be too late for anyone to complain." As events transpired, Philco was to be cancelled at the end of the season, concluding an eight-season run; it was decided that "A Man is Ten Feet Tall" would be the final production. (Remarkably, the kinescope exists; why not check it out here?)

Poitier and Aurthur on the set of The Lost Man  

Poitier's agent was onboard; the actor would be paid top dollar for the show, $1,000. Philco was no problem; they were only "moderately nervous" about the play. The problem turned out to be NBC — they were nervous that Poitier had once been on the blacklist, and was therefore unacceptable. Duff was outraged, and demanded a meeting with network officials and Poitier. Aurthur was not part of the meeting (Duff was "afraid I'd punch a lawyer"), but Poitier appeared, with great reluctance. Questioned about his relationship with Canada Lee, a black actor and activist, with whom Poitier had worked in South Africa in Cry, the Beloved Country. As Poitier recalled how they were allowed in the country only as indentured servants to the film's producer, he broke down crying, and fled the room. 

Aurthur informed the network that if there were any further questions about politics, he and Duff would notify the newspapers of the story. The network readily agreed that if he could talk Poitier into accepting the role, there would be no more questions. After a great deal of persuasion, he finally agreed to take the role, for $2,000. "A little revenge for Sid, cheap enough for us." Aurthur was kept busy with rewrites right up until the time of broadcast. It was a huge success; Aurthur recounts receiving more than 1,100 cards, letters, and telegrams in praise of the play; it wound up winning seven awards. On the flip side, two Southern newspapers called Aurthur a Communist, six Philco distributors threatened to cancel their franchises, and 6,000 people signed a petition saying they'd never watch the show again. Of course, since this was the last episode, it was a hollow threat.

That says a lot about what television, and American culture, was like in 1955. It's an example of one of the prime reasons this blog exists — to illustrate how much we can learn about America through television; not just racial issues, but so many other things as well. As for the power of TV, Aurthur concludes with what he called "the most thrilling moment," which came the night after the show aired. He received a phone call about 8 p.m. from Poitier, calling from a Harlem drugstore. He'd ducked in there to get some space from a mob who'd seen the play and wanted to tell him how much they'd liked it. "Listen to them," he shouted. "They're right outside the booth." He told the fans, "I'm talking to the guy who wrote it. Tell him what yiou think." Aurthur could hear loud cheering on the other end of the line. "Sidney laughed, and then he said, "Hey babe, I'm glad we did it." 

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

A Touch of Grace, ABC's new sitcom, is graced, if you will, with two exceptional actors: Shirley Booth, "who can be counted on always to special-deliver" her lines; and J. Pat O'Malley, so fine an actor that "he can make something of nothing." Unfortunately, as Cleveland Amory found out, nothing is plentiful in this lame knockoff of the British series For the Love of Ada, and that begins with anyone in the cast who isn't name Booth or O'Malley.  

The premise finds Grace Simpson (Booth), living with her daughter and son-in-law, played by Marian Mercer and Warren Berlinger, who — for comic effect, we assume — are "so square they are less funny than pathethic." Berlinger is Walter, a hen-pecked husband who works at a supermarket "and is always taking about things like celery and radishes — which the writers think should be funny," while the status-conscious Myra mother-hens her mother by "always worrying about Grace's beau (Herbert, played by O'Malley) not being a gentleman." Grace, of course, is the complete opposite, sprightly and full of fun. O'Malley's punchline is that he works as a gravedigger, and he makes the most of it, especially in his readings of headstone incriptions; he is, says Cleve, "a riot."

The problem, as we've seen, is that Booth and O'Malley have nothing to work with. The plots are what belong in the graveyard, posits Amory; "If it's possible to base a whole episode on what is a tasteless idea to begin with, these writers will do it." One plot dealt with Grace giving Herbert her late husband's suit and watch, outraging Myra; another week will center on Herbert wanting to take Grace on a trip to Sausalito, outraging Myra; a third features Grace, wanting to show she can still support herself, getting a job as a ladies'-room attendant, outraging Myra. Well, you get the idea. Never far from the surface, Amory complains, are "Two Basic Jokes": one, that old people having sex is funny; and two, that Grace's life is unfulfilled because she's not yet a grandmother. If anyone can make these work, it's Booth and O'Malley, but too often "it makes you feel fabuely uncomfortable, if not downright annoyed." On the heels of All in the Family and Sanford and Son, the producers must have thought another American adaptation of a British sitcom would be a similar hit; 13 episodes later, they found out otherwise. Television, Cleve says, has plenty of room for a seniors' sitcom, but "this isn't it." 

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I know you're going to find this hard to believe, but Hollywood studios have been hit by a movie and TV writers' strike. (Imagine that.) According to Richard K. Doan, Writers Guild members are predicting the strike (the first one since the five-month long strike in 1960) could last for weeks, or even months; the networks are already foreseeing "utter chaos" with the fall season. Up to now, there had been general agreement that the new season would begin on September 10, but that's all in flux. What appears to be more certain is that some "tryout" shows planned for the summer may have to be shelved. In the event, the strike lasts for 111 days; it doesn't have a catastrophic effect; ten weeks in, more than 150 independent producers (comprising more than 50 percent of primetime television) have signed the new contract, with the boycott pared back to just the major studios.

Elsewhere in The Doan Report, Broadway producer Joseph Papp is engaged in a bitter dispute with CBS over a postponement of the planned March 9 presentation of Sticks and Bones, an antiwar drama about a blind Vietnam veteran's unhappy homecoming. According to the network, 69 of 184 affiliates had already refused to air the movie after having viewed a preview showing; the network suggested it might reschedule after the POW homecomings. Papp replied that it was a "cowardly cop-out" and threatened to renege on his four-year contract with the network. Sticks and Bones does eventually air later in the year, with 94 affiliates refusing to show it (in eight cities, it was carried by non-CBS affiliates). I wrote about this a couple of years ago; in the key quote, "One CBS insider, who said that the show was 'not even good drama,' guessed that 'the tune-out in the first half hour must have been astronomical.' " 

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It's that time of the year, when pilots come out of hibernation and vie for a coveted spot on the fall network schedule, and Saturday sees a pair of "world premiere" presentations on NBC, beginning with The Magician (8:00 p.m. ET), starring Bill Bixby as a magician who uses his art to help others. That one does make the fall lineup; the same can't be said for Jarrett (9:30 p.m.), a tongue-in-cheek detective series starring Glenn Ford as a P.I. specializing in fine-arts cases. Did the network make the right decisions? Check them out for yourself and see.

Buckley interviewing Smith on Firing Line

On Sunday, Bob Cromie's Book Beat (7:30 p.m, PBS) features convicted murderer Edgar Smith, author of Getting Out, the story of his 15-year quest for freedom that ended with his release in 1971. Actually, I should describe it this way: Edgar Smith, the convicted murderer who duped William F. Buckley Jr. into believing his story that he was an innocent man wrongly convicted. Smith had been found guilty and sentenced to death for the 1957 murder of a 15-year-old girl. While on death row, he started a correspondence with Buckley, who, convinced of Smith's innocence, financed a legal team to advocate for Smith's innocence. His conviction was overturned, and in a plea bargan deal he pleaded guilty to second-degree murder in return for being released for time served. In 1976, Smith kidnapped and murdered a 33-year-old woman. Smith called Buckley for help, but Buckley, realizing he'd been wrong, instead called the FBI and Smith was arrested and convicted of murder, confessing in prison that he had, in fact, committed the 1957 murder as well. He was sentenced to life, and died in prison in 2017. 

A CBS News Special on Monday looks at a prime example of how some things never change; "The Long War" between Congress and the Presidency over issues such as war decisions and spending authority. (10:00 p.m.) If this sounds familiar, it's because this is a conflict that dates back to the nation's birth. Since this is only a one-hour report, reporters Dan Rather and Roger Mudd are limited to looking back at conflicts between Congress and Presidents Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon, but if you think what we're seeing today is new, you've got another think coming.

Another pilot made good can be seen on Tuesday, in the movie The Police Story (8:00 p.m., NBC), with Vic Morrow starring as a tough cop working on a team set up to crash crimes as they're being committed. Chuck Connors is the chief bad guy, and the supporting cast includes Ed Asner, Harry Guardino, and Diane Baker; minus the article in the title, the anthology series debuts in the fall as Police Story. And speaking of criminals, the made-for-TV movie Beg, Borrow . . . Or Steal (8:30 p.m, ABC) featuers some nice stunt casting, with Mike Connors of Mannix, Michael Cole of The Mod Squad, and Kent McCord of Adam-12 as three man planning a museum robbery. Hmm; I wonder if this fine-art robbery will be investigated by Glenn Ford?

Another successful pilot! On Wednesday, Tony Musante stars as Toma, based on the real-life story of a detective who uses his talent for disguise to infiltrate a gambling ring. (8:30 p.m., ABC) In one of the more famous examples of such, Musante quits the series after one season, saying that he had never intended to do the series any longer than that; despite entreaties from the network, including an offer to convert Toma into a series of occasional specials, Musante sticks to his guns, and Toma eventurally morphs into Baretta, starring Robert Blake. Following that, Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law (10:00 p.m., ABC) gives us an prime example of how legal dramas of the 1970s are handling more controversial, contemporary issues: "Lesbian seduction is the charge as Marshall defends a diving champion accused of seducing a teen-age girl." You're not going to see that on Perry Mason!

Thursday's highlight comes from the world of syndicated repeats, as The Twilight Zone (9:30 p.m., Channel 27) airs the classic episode "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet," with William Shatner hamming it up as the man convinced he sees a creature on the wing of an airliner; the way Shatner chews the scenery, I'm surprised the plane had any wings left. Elsewhere, Jimmy Stewart and Frank Sinatra Jr. are the guests on The Dean Martin Show (10:00 p.m., NBC), with one of the highlights being a skit in which Jimmy and Dean report being robbed by a gang of nudists. 

Greg and Marcia stage a knife fight to the death for an attic bedroom that ends in tragedy for The Brady Bunch. (Friday, 8:00 p.m., ABC) Actually, I'm exaggerating a bit about the storyline—can you tell I'm getting bored here?—but you have to admit that this sounds a little more exciting, doesn't it? And CBS has a failed pilot, Gene Roddenberry's Genesis II, as its Friday night movie. (9:30 p.m.) Better to go for The Bobby Darin Show (10:00 p.m., NBC), with Bobby's guests Sid Caesar, Dusty Springfield, Jackie Joseph, and the a cappella soul group the Persuasions.

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This week's Eastern New England edition has a full-page ad for Chuck Scarborough, anchor of WNAC's 6:00 and 11:00 p.m. news. It's the first major-market anchor job for Scarborough, who joined WNAC last year, and in the two years he worked in Boston he took the station to first place in the ratings. From there, he moved on to WNBC, where he became co-anchor of the station's 6:00 and 11:00 news, in addition to doing occasional reports and prime-time updates, for the network.

I mention this all because last December, Chuck Scarborough retired from WNBC after 50 years as their anchorman. It was only in 2017 that he cut back his schedule to only working the 6:00 news; even then, he'd occasionally fill in at 11:00. (His anchor partner, Sue Simmons, had retired in 2012 after having worked with Scarborough since 1980.) When he retired, it was as the longest-serving anchorman in New York television history. Here, we get to see him in his early years, destined for greater things. But who knew the kind of career he'd have?

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MST3K alert: The Black Scorpion (1957) features excellent special effects by Willis O'Brien (King Kong). It's about mammoth man-eating creatures that terrorize Mexico City. Richard Denning, Mara Corday, Carlos Rivas. (Wednesday, 11:30 p.m., CBS) It's not often that we're graced with a review by Judith Crist, but it isn't often that an MST3K movie gets a network run, albeit in the late-night spot. It's "a 1957 sci-fi with creaky oversized bugs out to rule the world, staring in Mexico. They lose — but nobdy watching wins." She's right, of course, which is why it winds up on MST3K — and that means everybody wins. TV  

The news leader of the Upper Midwest

I don't often do posts these days that are primarily devoted to videos, but there are occasions that call for an exception. And just because I've moved out of Minnesota and washed my hands of the whole place, I still have an interest in the history of television in the Twin Cities. Today, we have an intersection of those two topics.

A few weeks ago, I revisited "Miracle on 9th Street," a 1974 episode of the WCCO public affairs program Moore on Sunday. At the time, I mentioned WCCO's commitment to producing local programming, and took the opportunity to, well, complain about the state of local programming in television today.

Over the last few days, the indispensable site tcmedianow.com has put up several new WCCO news videos that they've just digitized; I thought you might find them interesting because they give us a more comprehensive look at the type of local programming that WCCO did; it's also a chance to see how news coverage has changed over the years. (Also, for those of you whose only reference point for Twin Cities newscasts are the ones you see with Ted Baxter on The Mary Tyler Moore Show, you'll see why WCCO was considered one of the best news stations in the nation.)

The first video begins with a program consisting of the station's award-winning entry in the 1960 George Foster Peabody Awards competition. The Peabody was presented to WCCO "In recognition of several distinguished locally produced programs, including Unwed Mothers, Sister Kenny Scandal, and Arle Haeberle’s Capsule Fashion Course, a specifically created therapy for the women patients at Anoka State Mental Hospital." As anchor Dave Moore points out in the introduction, WCCO produced 32 documentaries in 1960 alone, covering topics "from politics to poverty on skid row." Thirty-two documentaries—think about it; that's one every 12 days or so. Imagine that kind of output, and from a three-man unit. These aren't power-puff topics, either—they're hard-hitting looks at issues that people might have been hesitant to talk about in public. There are a couple different versions of this, including raw footage that lacks narration, so I've cued the video to begin at 21:07, but if you don't mind repetition the entire segment is worth watching. 

The second segment, beginning at 29:42, is the 10:00 p.m. newscast from Tuesday, September 3, 1957. (The date isn't included in the video, but I was able to pinpoint it based on the news story about a military jet crash, and the baseball scores given in the sports.) I love looking at these local news videos for several reasons; you get an idea of the kind of news stories being presented on local news, and you can also see that the sets used by local stations are a good deal more sophisticated-looking than what you see portrayed in sci-fi B-movies of the era. But check out those graphics on the weather! And can you imagine a newscaster today doing the commercials as well? Especially commercials that are made to look like news stories!

Just to prove that the "Miracle on 9th Street" of Moore on Sunday was the exception rather than the rule, I'm also including an episode from November 4, 1973, covering the increasing problem of violence in schools. Again, this is something that's more than a five-minute segment on a sensational topic or a veiled promotion for something on the network later on, but a half-hour in-depth look at a serious issue. 

And here's a bonus—a 1963 WCCO Reports on the role that Minnesota plays in the burgeoning computer/electronics industry, long before anyone had ever heard of Silicon Valley. I wonder what would have happened if that had stayed in Minnesota rather than migrated to the Left Coast. 

As I've written before (many times before), I'd like to think that this, rather than game shows or endless reruns of stupid sitcoms, is what the FCC had in mind with its Prime Time Access rule. WCCO would produce many such documentaries over the years, on subjects ranging from "The Hollow Victory: Vietnam Under Communism" to "From Belfast With Love." (There's actually a WCCO page on the Peabody Awards website.) Maybe the graphics today are flashier, and the presenters and presentations are more polished, but back then the reporters had something of substance between the ears. And thanks again to tcmedianow.com for digitizing these clips and preserving an essential part of television history. TV  

This week in TV Guide: May 15, 1971

Are the words "television" and "journalism" mutually exclusive? Of course not; we saw a couple of weeks ago how Edward R. Murrow took on Joseph McCarthy; New York Times critic Jack Gould called it a week that "may be remembered as the week that broadcasting recaptured its soul." That was 17 years ago, and in this first of a four-part look at television journalism, Richard Townley looks as why today's TV news "appears paunchy and pallid. It seems to lack the most important thing Murrow's brand of journalism gave it: promise."

The series begins with a look at local news coverage, which Townley sees as a particular disappointment in the New York and Washington D.C. areas, markets that one would think are the "sine qua non of broadcast journalism." And yet, compared to the work being done by print journalists, "television has almost totally abdicated its responsibility to do original reporting: the kind . . . that's important because we say it is, not because The New York Times says so."

Townley runs through a litany of responsibilities and resources that local news departments have, juxtaposed with the lack of return, all of which convinces the reader that the public deserves better than they get—which one analyst describes as "a headline service." So where's the problem? Townley points to a uniformity of thought in news departments about what constitutes "important" news. It's not an ideological bias, he writes, but one of "a common belief that some stories can be covered better than others on television. Invariably, this means picture stories. And the best stories of this kind—as any movie-goer can testify—are stories of excitement and conflict." Townley points to the civil rights and antiwar movements as stories of conflict that were also legitimate news stories. But, he asks, would the media have become as invested in civil rights if it hadn't been violent, if the South had acquiesced to racial integration? (The protesters, knowing what sells on TV news, clearly understood how to frame the story to get maximum coverage.) Dr Milton Eisenhower, brother of Dwight and chairman of the post-RFK assassination commission on violence in America, says that "for a long, long time [television] has given greater news value to conflict than it has to the fundamental knowledge that people need in order to make wise democratic decisions."

So now we know what the problem is, but why? Townley points to three factors: demands on news managers to be profitable as well as respectable; the definition of success as being measured in ratings in order to deliver that profitability; and the perception that viewers are "lazy, indifferent or ignorant, and easily bored," which "makes thought the slave to picture." The conclusion Townley reaches at the end of his examination: in an industry where "one rating point means hard cash" and one New York station when through three news directors in one year, the tone is set by "men like WNEW-TV's Ted Kavanau, who says: 'We can only take so many risks.'" So it was then, so it is now.

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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 series of the era. 

It's fitting, considering this week's cover story, that Cleveland Amory has in his sights not one, nor even two, but three—count 'em, three—shows: the network evening news programs. Anchoring the nightly news is a tough job, says Cleve; back in the old days, when he was "a boy in Babylon," if an emissary came bearing good news, "we welcomed them with open arms, gave them a banquet and wrote them a rave review." On the other hand, if it was bad news—well, "we first smote them hip and thigh, then slew them, then delivered, to their next of kin, a rotten review." Nowadays, they just lose their jobs—ask the last two anchors at CBS.

There's a problem, in general, with the news on television, Amory says—we need more of it. That is, tough-minded news, with independent thought. We all prefer good news to bad news, but sometimes it just hasn't been that good a day—and that's the way the news has to be presented. But, "with the kind of pressure the news departments are getting these days, we have just that much less chance of getting it. For whether or not no news is good news, one thing is certain—all good news, for a country that pretends to freedom, is bad news indeed."

Amory points out the weaknesses of network news programs: they're all "slavish imitations of each other" (echoing the observations of Richard Townley above); when charges are made against somebody, "the answers to these charges are somehow the things you remember"; and for an industry such as network news that makes such an issue (and rightly so) of independence from government interference, "why don't they give outside commentators the same independence they want?" And don't try to make them into show business; back in the day, "Huntley and Brinkley's competitors always seemed to be searching frantically for a kind of top-banana team consisting of a Pete Personality and a Charley Charisma."

As far as individual broadcasts are concerned, Cleve feels NBC's has improved, with "the professorial Mr. McGee and the wryly earnest Mr. Chancellor," and at CBS, "Mr. Cronkite is as good as he ever was, backed up by Mr. Sevareid, who could be for our taste a bit more full of sound and fury, but he at least signifies something." ABC has become a player as well, with Howard K. Smith (who "has moved unobtrusively but steadily into becoming close to our No. 1 favorite") being joined by Harry Reasoner, "who can be both light and heavy." All that's left now is for public television to come up with a real evening news program, producing four-way competition. "That, not censorship, is the only answer."

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Philo Farnsworth's friends complain there's nothing good on.

It's TV's "great paradox," according to the Doan Report: "more and more people watching while more and more disparagement is heaped on the medium." The average viewer, according to Nielsen, watches "just under six hours" of television each day. (They obviously didn't ask me.) Women, who spend more time at home, watch about 30 hours per week, men about six hours less. And while the wealthy and highly education tend to look down their noses at TV, that doesn't prevent them from watching; men earning over $15,000 (affluent back in 1971!) watch 20 hours a week, their wives take in 23 hours.

One can imagine this has always been the case, and as the number of stations grew, people still complained. Remember Springsteen's song about 57 channels and nothing on? I wonder, though, if we're finally arriving at a point where people are happy with their choices? (If not the amount of money they have to pay.) With the growth of cord-cutting, if people aren't happy with their choices they just get rid of it all.

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And now for the sports page. Canonero II, the upset winner of the Kentucky Derby, tries to make it two-for-two as he takes to the track in the Preakness, second jewel in horse racing's Triple Crown, (CBS, 5:00 p.m. ET). And come out on top he does, defeating Eastern Fleet by a length-and-a-half, leading to great anticipation for June+'s Belmont Stakes, where the horse tries to become the first Triple Crown winner since Citation in 1948. Alas, despite the cheers of a record crowd, he fades in the grueling mile-and-a-half race, finishing fourth to Pass Catcher.

The NBA playoffs ended in April, if you can believe that, with the Milwaukee Bucks defeating the Baltimore Bullets in four games, so the only hoops action left is in the ABA, and game six of the finals is Saturday afternoon (2:00 p.m., CBS) with the Utah Stars taking on the Kentucky Colonels in Louisville. The Stars come into the game with a 3-2 series lead, but the Colonels force game seven by defeating Utah 105-102. That deciding game, played Tuesday in Salt Lake City, isn't on national television—not unusual back in the day. But just because a game isn't seen on national TV doesn't mean it isn't played; Utah beats Kentucky 131-121 to win the fourth ABA championship.

The NHL's Stanley Cup playoffs end this week as well; we'll talk about that later.

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For those not in the horse racing set, Jean Shepherd's America (Saturday, 5:30 p.m., WHYY) takes a tour of America's favorite dishes, pronouncing that "There's a Lot More to Life than a Hostess Twinkie." (Truer words were seldom spoken.) In prime time, Tom Jones . . .And Such Special Friends (8:30 p.m., ABC) features Frank Gorshin, Paul Anka and Dusty Springfield. But for my money, the best entertainment on television for the whole week has to be Kup's Show (1:00 a.m., WNEW). I mentioned Irv Kupcinet's remarkable career last month; the format of Kup's Show was more like a round-table discussion than a traditional talk show, with all of his guests taking part, and tonight's guest list is a prime example of what made it so watchable. We have singer, actor and activist Harry Belafonte; George Reedy, former press secretary to LBJ; Yippie leader Abbie Hoffman; Saul Alinsky, author of Rules for Radicals; Perry Wolf, executive producer of CBS's The Selling of the Pentagon; feminist author Germaine Greer; and Stephen Birmingham, author of a book about Sephardic Jews in America. It's like lighting a match in a fireworks factory. You think the discussion turned out like this?

Sunday starts with an Ella Fitzgerald special (7:00 p.m., WNEW), with guest Duke Ellington; sounds like a wonderful way to start the evening. Ed Sullivan follows (8:00 p.m., CBS), with George Hamilton (singing "If You Could Read My Mind"), Bernadette Peters, Oliver, the Phil Driscoll Explosion, the Young Saints, Georgie Kaye, and Skiles and Henderson. And at 9:00 p.m, the start of a grim double-feature on NET. First, it's NET Playhouse, with an adaptation of Marya Mannes' dark novel "They," set in 1990; a future in which "At age 55, citizens are carted off to detention camps—and given a maximum of 10 years to live." The stars include Cornelia Otis Skinner, Gary Merrill, Jack Gilford and Joseph Wiseman. That's followed at 10:30 p.m. by NET Opera Theatre's presentation of "Owen Wingrave," Benjamin Britten's written-for-television antiwar opera, with a stellar cast featuring Benjamin Luxon, Peter Pears, Sylvia Fisher, John Shirley-Quirk and Janet Baker.

Now here's something we could use today: Hess's department store of Allentown, Pennsylvania presents Hess's 10th International Flower Show (Monday, 8:00 p.m., WPVI), "featuring exotic flowers and the news in fashions." It stars Barbara Eden, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Dorothy Malone and Barbara Walters. Elsewhere, Anthony Quinn stars in the made-for-TV movie The City (9:00 p.m., ABC), the pilot for the fall series The Man and the City, in which Quinn plays the mayor of a large southwestern city (it's not named, but the series is filmed in Albuquerque). Despite Quinn's star power and a good pedigree, the series only lasts a half-season. Meanwhile, apropos of nothing in particular, all three late night talk shows are away from home tonight. Dick Cavett has extended his stay in London for an extra day, while Merv Griffin comes to us from Las Vegas for a week, and Johnny Carson does likewise with one of his periodic visits to Hollywood. I wonder who's home minding the store?

Something that caught my eye on Tuesday morning: Summer Semester (6:30 a.m., CBS) welcomes the famous American astronomer physicist, and NASA scientist Dr. Robert Jastrow, director of the Goddard Institute for Space Studies, who'll be teaching a nine week course on "New Science," appearing Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. I would gladly have taken that class. Speaking of space—sort of—the 4:30 p.m. movie on WOR is Mutiny in Outer Space, which sounds for all the world like something that ought to have been on MST3K: "After an exploratory moon trip, two astronauts return to their orbiting space station—bringing with them a deadly fungus." At 8:30 p.m, ABC's Movie of the Week has a rerun of The Over-the-Hill Gang Rides Again, with Fred Astaire, Walter Brennan, Edgar Buchanan, Andy Devine and Chill Wills. Says Judith Crist, it's "designed for Golden Agers and movie buffs who get a bang out of seeing familiar faces."

It's been a while since Tennessee Ernie Ford headlined a weekly series, but he's big enough to host Sing America Beautiful on Wednesday night (9:00 p.m., NBC). Ernie's guests for this "hand-clapping singalong" are Danny Thomas, Diahann Carroll, the Smothers Brothers, Arlene Golonka, the International Children's Choir and the Third Marine Aircraft Wing Band. And is Ben Cartwright a Commie spy? Shocking! But here it is in black-and-white, in the 1969 movie Destiny of a Spy (WOR, 11:00 p.m.). Lorne Greene plays a retired Russian agent (so maybe he's not a Commie!) involved in "a plot to destroy a British counter-radar system." No, I guess he's a Red after all. That is, until he falls in love with a British double-agent, played by Rachel Roberts. Will love conquheroiceror Marx? Who knows?

It's farewell to The Jim Nabors Hour on Thursday (8:00 p.m., CBS), with an episode spotlighting the regulars: Frank Sutton does a dramatic reading, and Karen Morrow is torn between two potential husbands (Jim, Ronnie Schell). Plus there's plenty of singing! It means the first time since 1962 that he won't be on a weekly series, after The Andy Griffith Show, Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C. and this, but don't feel too sorry for him: according to the Hollywood TV Teletype, he'll be picking up "some of that personal-appearance money this summer," headlining shows from Lake Tahoe to Washington D.C., along with "practically the whole cast of his canceled CBS-TV series." Next year his summers will include his longest-running gig: singing "Back Home Again in Indiana" at the Indianapolis 500, which he'll do faithfully, with few exceptions, between 1972 and 2014. And David Frost takes a page out of Dick Cavett's playbook, spending the entire 90 minutes of his show with guest Johnny Cash (8:30 p.m., WNEW).

Memorial Day 1971 isn't for a couple of weeks yet, but Friday's late movie schedule makes you think stations are gearing up for it now, starting with Hell to Eternity (11:00 p.m., WOR), based on the World War II heroics of Marine Guy Gabaldon (Jeffrey Hunter) "who, at age 18, captured or persuaded to surrender over 1,300 Japanese soldiers and civilians during the battles for Saipan and Tinian islands in 1944." (Definitely not a snowflake there.) Then there's The Day and the Hour (11:30 p.m, WPIX), with Simone Signoret as a member of the French underground who becomes involved with U.S. soldier Stuart Whitman; To Hell and Back (1:00 a.m., WCAU), the incredible true story of Medal of Honor winner Audie Murphy, playing himself; and Away All Boats (1:10 p.m., WCBS), the adventures of an attack transport crew fighting the Japanese, with Jeff Chandler and George Nader. Plus, there's the documentary series Men in Crisis (2:40 a.m., WNEW), portraying the final stages of World War I, with General John J. Pershing leading his American troops against German Field Marshal Eric Ludendorff.

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Finally, there's a topic I've been trying to avoid for as long as possible, but I suppose I have to deal with it eventually. Despite having lived most of my life in Minnesota, even though I rooted for the Green Bay Packers as a child, there is only one sports team that I have consistently taken to my heart: the Chicago Blackhawks. I don't know what it was; maybe it was the legendary Chicago Stadium, the world's loudest arena, its antiquated scoreboard and its mighty Wurlitzer organ; perhaps it was the dynamism of Bobby Hull; or it could have been part of the endless fascination I've had with the city of Chicago. Whatever the reason, ever since I started watching hockey, through thick and thin, season in and season out, the Hawks were my team. It certainly didn't hurt that when the night was clear, I could get the home games on WMAQ radio, with the legendary Lloyd Pettit behind the mic.

In 1971, the Hawks found themselves in the Stanley Cup Final against the Montreal Canadiens. At that point, Montreal had won the Cup 16 times, compared to just three for Chicago. But here they were, behind Hull, Stan Mikita and goalie Tony Esposito, poised to bring the Cup back to Chicago for the first time since 1961, and they had the home ice advantage to boot. The teams split the first six games, each team winning their home games, and game seven was scheduled for Tuesday night in Chicago. For the longest time, everything went our way. The Hawks drew first blood with a goal from Bobby Hull's brother Dennis, then added another from Danny O'Shea. The cameras shook with the roar from the crowd. With less than six minutes to play in the second period, the Hawks still led, 2-0.

And then it all fell apart.

Jacques Lemaire launched a shot from outside the blue line that floated past Esposito, and it was 2-1. Before the period ended the game was tied. Less than three minutes into the third period, the Canadiens led 3-2. And even though the Hawks had 17 minutes to even the score, even though they swarmed the Montreal net, that's they way the game ended, and the Canadiens carried off the Stanley Cup again. I didn't smash anything, as I'd been known to do, nor did I bite the coffee table, as I once did. This was too painful for anger; if you were a Hawks fan, you were absolutely heartbroken, and you knew it would last. It called for bitterness, and I was bitter. And it snowed the next day

The Hawks made it back to the finals two years later, and lost. They made it again in 1992, and lost. Crowds dwindled, the Stadium was torn down in favor of United Center, a more lavish but soulless arena built mostly for Michael Jordan and the Bulls. For more than a few seasons, they missed the playoffs altogether. Through the thick and thin of all those years, with few exceptions, I stuck with the Hawks. When they finally—finally!—won the Cup in 2010, after a drought of 49 years, when some of us had given up on it ever happening, it was like reaching the Promised Land, so emotional that it was almost numbing. They'd win again in 2013, and take a third Cup in 2015, this one a win at home. I'd stopped following hockey by then, but I tuned in to those final games, wearing one of my Blackhawks jerseys and waving my Blackhawks pennant, cheering them on. Those years were a reminder that winning isn't everything, it's the only thing. And yet. . .

Almost every sports fan will tell you that the agony of defeat always outweighs the thrill of victory. As joyous as winning is, it can never make up for losing. And so even after winning three Stanley Cups in six years, there was always something a little bittersweet about those victories, always the one that got away—not 1992, not 1973, but 1971. It's probably why losing hurts so much; it's meant that way, to keep you from wanting to experience it again. But we keep at it anyway. TV  

The news, and nothing but the news

Back a couple of years ago, I shared video of a full-length broadcast of The Scene Tonight, the 10:00 p.m. news program on Minneapolis-St. Paul's WCCO, Channel 4. The broadcast was from January 1968, and was a very early example of a unified news program - that is, news, weather and sports taking place on one set, offering opportunities interaction between the on-air personalities. It was innovations like this that made "happy news" possible, but for the most part The Scene Tonight offered hard news, with the byplay between Dave Moore and Bud Kraehling, for example, informal but not forced. Ah, for those days...

Anyway, here's an example of the opposite - a broadcast where the news, weather, and sports are three separate programs, each with their own sponsors, with each segment separated by commercials. Since the principals never appear on-camera together, there's no chatter, nothing but the news. It's from WCCO's archrival: KSTP, Channel 5, the NBC affiliate. Featured are John MacDougall with the news, Johnny Morris and the weather, and Al Tighe on sports. I realize you might see this as something of primarily local interest, but I think the broadcast offers more than that, even if you aren't from the Twin Cities. It's a time capsule in more ways than one - not only do we see the stories that were making news back then, we get a chance to see how the local newscast has evolved.

This video, as well as that of the WCCO newscast, comes to us from the YouTube channel for TC Media Now, a tremendous repository of clips from Twin Cities radio and television. The broadcast is from late 1968, when the Christmas season is starting - as you'll be able to tell from one of the stories. Though the copy we have is in black-and-white, the original would have been in color - befitting KSTP, "The Northwest's Total Color Television Station." Happily, the commercials are included!