We Interrupt This Program. . .

Today, Bill Griffiths is back for the second part of his two-part retrospective on those television moments that scared the hell out of us when we were little (and can still be unnerving today). Two weeks ago it was the weekly test of the Emergency Broadcast System; today, it's the interruption nobody ever wanted to see: the news bulletin. Take it away, Bill! 

by Bill Griffiths

When news breaks, we fix it!"—Promo for The Daily Show with Craig Kilborn, 1996

Previously I had written about the unpleasant childhood experience of sitting through tests of the old Emergency Broadcast System. Those tests were weekly requirements and by that knowledge were to be expected. What was never anticipated were interruptions for urgent news stories. Today the viewer gets something of an advance warning thanks (?) to flashy CGI graphics, dramatic music and in some instances a visual countdown that is designed to communicate that something important is about to be passed along. Sometimes that is actually true. Other times, well… I’ll have thoughts about that later in this essay.

When I was a kid, such disruptions were abrupt. You’re watching your favorite program and suddenly a slide/telop appears with words in big bold type such as 

NEWS BULLETIN or SPECIAL REPORT

This could be truly frightening. Sometimes the report was a simple voiceover with the accompanying graphic, or the appearance of a reporter in the channel’s newsroom or on location. Very few are of a positive nature such as on July 11,1985 when ABC’s Peter Jennings apparently broke into General Hospital announcing the return of Coca-Cola’s original formula following the launch earlier that year of "New Coke" (this also lead that evening’s World News Tonight). At other times rather than actually interrupting a show, there would be a crawl at the bottom of the screen. I actually remember one of these from 1979. I was 7, watching a CBS daytime repeat of M*A*S*H. It was the opening scene of the season three episode "Officer of the Day" where Private Igor accidentally aims a cannon at Radar’s bugle and shoots it out of his hand during the morning assembly. It’s a funny moment, but was ruined when a crawl from KPIX Channel 5 Eyewitness News streamed across the screen warning viewers that local utility PG&E may initiate rolling blackouts due to that year’s energy crisis. Scary stuff to a kid. Now I don’t recall the power going out that afternoon, but this random moment has strangely stuck in my memory.

For downbeat experiences, YouTube comes through again with a variety of national and local bulletins/special reports of years past preserved for our viewing displeasure when we want to put a damper on our day. Even decades later, it’s somewhat depressing to watch—more accurately hear as no in-studio camera was ready—Walter Cronkite interrupt the live November 22, 1963 telecast of As The World Turns with the first CBS News Bulletin that President John F. Kennedy had been shot in Dallas, Texas (west coast affiliates were being fed the sitcom Pete and Gladys). It’s actually remarkable this was recorded as the tragedy unfolded, most likely because CBS engineers were taping the popular daytime drama for later playback in other time zones. As such, it has become commonplace to see those initial bulletins used in various JFK retrospectives. One could be mistaken that most of America learned of Kennedy’s assassination from Cronkite where in actuality they likely heard the news from radio, a friend or neighbor, or at work or school. Cynical as it may seem, CBS News has no doubt made lots of money from licensing their coverage. As a footnote, the As The World Turns cast were unaware of the shooting until they concluded their (largely unseen) performances but the crew definitely knew what was happening as the show proceeded.

While that occurred before my time, just as mind numbing to rewatch were the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. Vividly, I can remember delaying going into work as the first images were aired. Reporters and anchors speculated that it could have been a terrorist incident or an accident. As soon as I saw the second plane hit the World Trade Center, there was no doubt. Subsequent reports from the Pentagon and Pennsylvania only confirmed that this would be a long, horrific day. There is a benefit of having such live “as it happened” news available on YouTube. History classes can use these clips to enhance the instruction of those events. As an example, last year on September 11, my daughter’s History class learned in detail about the significance of that date and watched some of the real-time news footage. Upon picking her up from school, she talked to me about what she saw and was quite disturbed. All of her classmates found it unsettling. But she and I could have a thoughtful discussion with her seeing it from the passage of time and me having seen it occur live on television. Both of us

concluded that we should never forget what took place… and hope it won’t happen again.

The general objective of interrupting a program is to inform viewers of a very important news event that has just happened or is currently in progress, and the reporting cannot wait until the next scheduled news update or newscast which could be hours away. In the aftermath of the Kennedy assassination, the networks became too eager to break into programming even if the story could have waited until more facts were available or the event itself simply did not warrant a show intrusion. This compulsion to interrupt programs became a source of irritation for viewers and led to a TV Guide investigation on the practice by Neil Hickey in its May 8, 1965, edition. It is worth reading because 60 years later with the proliferation of cable news as well as expanded local and regional news on broadcast stations, the problem has gone far beyond what any network executive back then could have imagined. Pick any national channel— CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, NewsNation, Newsmax, etc., or a local broadcast. Stick around to see how long it will take to have the Swoosh-sounds, intense music and words that shout

BREAKING NEWS, DEVELOPING STORY, NEWS ALERT, JUST IN, PANIC TIME* appear. (*okay, I made that last one up— please don’t get any ideas if you’re a TV executive). It probably won’t be for more than a handful of minutes if not already happening when you tune in. Often this is accompanied by headline-style information in the lower thirds of the screen which became a regular feature of news broadcasting following the 9/11 attacks. How important is the information to warrant immediate increased attention? That is debatable. Supposedly in the past few years some stations have tampered down the use of such urgent wording in their reporting, yet I have seen little to no evidence of that being the case.

For many years there has been a need among news departments to be First and Fast with information. Note that I did not add “Accurate” to the equation. But is it asking too much to handle critical information with a degree of deliberation? Case in point from personal experience: some 33 years ago, I had aspirations of pursuing a career in journalism (given how reporting has evolved or de-volved, there is little regret that the profession did not pan out for me). I did spend time before heading off to the University of Oregon—GO DUCKS!—as an intern and later part-time reporter at my hometown radio stations KVON-AM/KVYN-FM in Napa, California. One truly dark and stormy night, I was the only person in the building preparing a report on flooding concerns for the next morning’s newscasts. Both stations were automated to satellite programming during the evening hours. Just after 9:00, all phone lines started constantly ringing with accounts that the west side of the city was without electricity. With little to go on, I made the decision to interrupt KVON’s airing of The Larry King Show with a brief live Bulletin acknowledging the power outage and that more details would be forthcoming momentarily. After contacting PG&E and City of Napa emergency officials, I went on the air again at 9:30 with a Special Report providing listeners with updated information of when the lights might go back on and assurance that there would no major flooding concerns the rest of the evening. The phone calls then stopped. Urgent news reporting can and does have a powerful impact, positive or negative. No reporter or anchor should take that responsibility lightly.

It may be on purpose that words such as Bulletin or Flash rarely, if ever, appear now in U.S. media, perhaps seen as antiquated terms. It is not difficult to see how we have become de-sensitized to breaking news reports and the often breathless displays of endless recapping and supposition. The era of the 24-hour news cycle is frankly exhausting. Yet, I and millions more continue to routinely follow the day’s happenings. Sometimes too much. It takes willpower to turn off the news and watch a classic rerun, a current favorite series, a sporting event, pick up a book or just take a needed walk outside. Otherwise, we can all be a little guilty of Information Overload.

WE NOW RESUME OUR REGULARY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING. TV  

This week in TV Guide: May 8, 1965

Xf there's one thing that drove me crazy back when I was watching the news (and I know what you're thinking—only one thing?), it was the ad nauseam intrusion of "Breaking News" headlines, which often were little more than intros to their next segment. (Fox News was an especially egregious offender in this regard.) It's bad enough that the industry moved away from the truly meaningful term "Bulletin" to the more amorphous "Special Report"; now they have to tease everyone with Breaking News just to let them know that the stock market's opening bell is sounding in fifteen minutes. 

As it happens, this isn't a particularly new phenomenon. In fact, back in 1965, the proliferation of bulletins was really starting to rub people the wrong way. Remember, we were just two or three years beyond some of the most disturbing of TV bulletins, those accompanying the Cuban Missile Crisis and the assassination of President Kennedy, and viewers were conditioned, on seeing that BULLETIN slide, to expect either the end of the world, or some very dire news—not "President Johnson’s cold has improved slightly, his physicians reported a moment ago, and he is expected to leave Bethesda Naval Hospital and return to the White House within the next 12 hours."

Based on other anecdoctal evidence I've read over the years, this bulletin, from the lead article by Neil Hickey, is likely verbatim. President Johnson had, in fact, been hospitalized over a nasty case of the flu, and the networks were providing constant updates on his condition. Jim Hagerty, former press secretary to President Eisenhower and now VP at ABC, was dubious about it all: "Admittedly, the President is the most important person in the free world. But honestly, didn’t we all overdo it just a little?" In fact, these interruptions, along with similar bulletins regarding U.S. airstrikes in Vietnam, added to what Hickey calls a situation "which has been argued hotly both by viewers and TV news officials for a long time"—when it is appropriate to interrupt regular programming (and the viewers' regular heart rhythms) with news stories. The practice has been on the increase lately, a mark of the increasing competition between networks to be first with the news, even when it means not thoroughly checking out a story before going on the air. Such was the case last year when CBS went live with an unconfirmed report that Nikita Khruschev had died. If, Hickey says, there had been even a moderate delay to check out the report, they would have been spared the embarrassment of having had to later retract the story.

At least the Khruschev report was newsworthy, unlike the bulletin ABC would later broadcast that Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton had just been married in Montreal. "An ABC news official, watching at home, said later, 'I could have died a million deaths when I saw that one'," and he probably wasnt alone, although maybe things are different today—viewers might consider a story like that real news nowadays. This wasn't the only time ABC came under heat for this kind of decision; their local New York affiliate interrupted a performance of "Swan Lake" by the Bolshoi Ballet, ten minutes before the ballet ended, to report that Malcolm X had been murdered. Most critics agreed that, newsworthy though this may have been, it could easily have been held until the program concluded.

TV Guide recently reached out to network news honchos for their guidelines on when it's appropriate to break into regular programming for news bulletins. They all agreed that the most important thing is to rely on experience and judgment. "Is it a service that the people need at this moment, such as an alarm?" asks CBS news chief Fred Friendly. "Is the news of such great importance that the viewer would want to be interrupted? What program is in progress, and will the content of the bulletin fit tastefully into the context of the program?" Julian Goodman at NBC adds that the network has a process designed to find the best spot in a program to place a bulletin—except in the most dire of circumstances, you can't, for example, "announce the death of an important figure in the middle of a comedy, and then come back to laughter. If we have to wait 10 minutes in the interests of good taste, we do so." But, as ABC head Jesse Zousmer says, "But what's the alternative? Should we come on and say, ‘In a half hour we’re going to tell you something unpleasant’?" In the end, they agree, you can't satisfy everybody.

However, it appears the networks are becoming more sensitive to complaints; one network is preparing a "million-dollar piece of equipment" which will allow them to run updates on the bottom of the screen; although machines like this already exist, they don't have a quick-enough turnaround time to be used for bulletins. Another idea is holding all bu tthe most important bulletins to run over the closing credits of programs. 

And there's one more piece of news: all three agree as well that there is no conspiracy to refrain from interrupting commercials for bulletins, as some have cynically suggested. Money has nothing to do with it, they insist. It's all timing.

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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’s scheduled guests are dancer Juliet Prowse; songstress Della Reese; singer Vaughn Monroe; the Three Stooges, comics; the Kim Sisters, singers; comedian Richard Pryor; Les Doubles Faces, pantomime artists; and comic Jackie Clark.

Palace: The host is singer Steve Lawrence, who introduces Mickey Rooney and Bobby Van in a spoof of the movie Bridge on the River Kwai; operatic soprano Jean Fenn; the Backporch Majority, folk singers; choreographer-dancer Jack Cole; comic Gene Baylos; plate spinners Alberto and Rosita; the Gimma Brothers, novelty act; and 4-year-old drummer Poogie Bell.

Since there are no indications of alterations to Ed's lineup, we'll go with it as listed, and it's a good one that includes a young Richard Prior, before many of us had heard of him. Over at the Palace, the leads are solid; you can be sure that Steve Lawrence, as host, is also going to get some performance time. However, it has neither the star power nor the entertainment value of Sullivan's show—the very fact that Ed has the Three Stooges (even without the sound effects) gives him an edge he won't lose. It's Sullivan this week, you knuckleheads.

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Earlier this week, we saw the ceremonies from England commemorating the 80th anniversary of V-E Day; fewer and fewer are alive to remember what that day was like. It was quite different in 1965, and on Saturday we see just how different, as General Dwight Eisenhower and British commander Field Marshal Montgomary gather via satellite to to look at "Victory in Europe, 20 Years After" (9:00 p.m. PT, CBS, taped from a live broadcast earlier in the day), a joint production between CBS and the BBC. Walter Cronkite and the BBC's Richard Dimbleby anchor the broadcast, which includes past and present images of some of the War's pivotal sites, including the Belsen concentration camp and the Italian monastery of Monte Cassino.

Speaking of the Tiffany Network, I don't know that many people recall that CBS once owned the New York Yankees, prior to their sale by a group led by George Steinbrenner. (The fact that their ownership coincides with one of the bleakest periods in Yankees history may have something to do with that.) We're reminded of it indirectly on Sunday, when CBS Sports Spectacular returns with coverage of the Harlem Globetrotters (1:00 p.m.). What does this have to do with the Yankees, you ask? Well, we're advised that Sports Spectacular will aire on "the seven Sundays when CBS is not covering New York Yankee home games." To this day, that seems like a match made in hell; can you imagine ESPN owning a pro sports franchise? Well, actually, it seems sometimes as if they own entire leagues, so maybe that's not the best comparison. 

The Winging World of Jonathan Winters (9:00 p.m., NBC) is Monday's highlight: a largely unscripted hour with improv from Winters and his guests, including Steve Allen, Leo Durocher, Stiller and Meara, and narrator Alexander Scourby. On a more lyrical note, a CBS News Special (10:00 p.m.) offers a tribute to the famous Finnish composer Jean Sibelius on the 100th anniversary of his birth, including performances of his compositions by the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra. Late night, it's the premiere of Merv Griffin's Group W talk show, with sidekick Arthur Treacher. (11:20 p.m., KPIX) For Merv's first show, his guests are Carol Channing, Danny Meehan, Dom DeLuise, and puppeteer Larry Reeling. 

For music of a more popular sort, Hoagy Carmichael narrates a tribute to "Tin Pan Alley" on The Bell Telephone Hour (Tuesday, 10:00 p.m., NBC), with singers Gordon MacRae, Carol Lawrence, Leslie Uggams and Bill Hayes; pianist Peter Nero and dancer Matt Mattox. On a darker note, The Doctors and the Nurses (10:00 p.m., CBS), which began life simply as The Nurses, takes a look at drug abuse in this story of a doctor who's been requisitioning morphine over the last three weeks, even though none of his patients has need of it.

More historical recognition of V-E Day on Wednesday, as the syndicated documentary series Men in Crisis presents "Truman vs. Stalin: The Potsdam Encounter" (7:00 p.m., KRON), with the story of the discussions between Truman, Stalin, and Winston Churchill about the partition of postwar Europe. Not one of the great moments in history, I have to admit. Later on, it's The Swinging World of Sammy Davis Jr. (8:30 p.m., KGO), and for his first television special in the United States, Davis is joined by fellow Rat Packer Peter Lawford, and two of his co-stars from the Broadway musical "Golden Boy," Billy Daniels and Lola Falana. 

It may only be my opinion, but I think the most interesting program on Thursday—perhaps the entire week, for that matter—is going to require you get up early for it. It's the education program Our World (6:30 a.m., KRON), as Ayn Rand discusses what she terms "the current intellectual crisis in America." I'd have enjoyed watching that. For something a little less intellectually stimulating, although no less exciting, I'd suggest KRCA's 7:00 p.m. movie, Gang War, starring a young Charles Bronson as a high school teacher who witnesses a gangland killing. This was made in 1958; I'd have to think that, had it been made in the 1970s, it would have had an entirely different feel.

NBC continues its extensive coverage of manned spaceflight on Friday with an NBC News Special, "The Man Who Walked in Space" (8:30 p.m.), featuirng interviews with the two Soviet cosmonauts who flew on the historic mission of Voskhod II, Pavel Belyayev, and Alexei Leonov, the world's first spacewalker. That's followed by something decidedly lighter: The Jack Benny Program (9:30 p.m., NBC), in which Jack tries to offer James and Gloria Stewart advise on their latest movie. And if we're talking about movies, here's one I saw just a couple of weeks ago: Joe MacBeth (part of KGO's All-Night Movies, starting at 1:00 a.m.), a nifty noir version of Shakespeare's play, transposed to the gangster era. It stars Paul Douglas and Ruth Roman, and it's well worth watching.

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Henry Harding's "For the Record" notes the death of Edward R. Murrow last week at the age of 57, from cancer. "To the millions who hung on his every word nightly during World War II, Edward R. Murrow was as much a good friend as a famous war correspondent." A later generation knew him as the man who took on McCarthy and won; "Said Murrow later: 'The timing was ripe and the instrument powerful.'" President Johnson praised Murrow, calling him "a gallant fighter, a man who dedicated his life as a newsman and as a public official to an unrelenting search for truth." As Harding says, "Good Night, Good Luck." 

The George Foster Peabody Awards were also awarded last week, with some interesting recipients. (A previous recipients: Edward R. Murrow.) Burr Tillstrom, best known as the creator of Kukla and Ollie, received one "for his moving Berlin Wall depiction on That Was the Week That Was," while Mr. Joyce Hall, president of Hallmark, was recognized for the company's sponsorship of Hallmark Hall of Fame. (He must be spinning in his grave today, seeing what that show has become.) And don't forget everyone's favorite French Chef, Julia Child.

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And now for a word or two on this week's cover story, about the show that gets no respect, Gilligan's Island. Don't believe me? Its stars can tell you a thing or two: Natalie Schafer, who plays Lovey Howell, says, "When you open in a play and bad notices come out, you expect to fold on Saturday. And I expected to fold. I had moved to Hollywood, but I left most of my clothes in New York because I never was very sure about this being a great success. It never entered my head it would go on." Dawn Wells, everyone's Mary Ann, said of her acquaintances, "So many of them looked at the show and said: Gee, you look good, you look great, or you look cute, or the photography’s great. But that’s all they said."

The show that critics love to hate—New York Times critic Jack Gould called it "quite possibly the most preposterous situation comedy of the season," while syndicated columnist Hal Humphrey, who named it the worst comedy on the air, added that "Gilligan's Island is the kind of thing one might expect to find running for three nights at some neighborhood group playhouse, but hardly on a Coast-to-Coast TV network." However, the show has become the sleeper series of the year, muscling into third place in the weekly Nielsens, to the surprise of almost everyone. 

Sherwood Schwartz, executive producer, was not impressed by the show's negative reception among critics. "I was not disheartened by the reviews. Only a bit angry with the lack of understanding of what was being attempted." What that was, he tells Richard Warren Lewis, was something different. "Here are the same men who are forever saying: 'For heaven’s sake, won’t somebody give us something other than the wife and the husband and the two children?' he husband and the two children?’ So you bring something else to the tube and you read very good reviews about the husband and the wife and the two kids with the same old story lines—the wife dented the fender and the husband doesn’t know about it; she insulted the husband’s boss and didn’t know who he was; he forgot their anniversary. They're yelling and crying for a fresh approach. You give 'em a fresh approach, they kill you and praise the guy who’s doing the same old thing." Bob Denver, who plays Gilligan, was similarly sanguine. "I don’t think the critics were ready for broad, silly, physical comedy. You have to adjust to it. They’re entitled to their opinion. It’s silly to put them down. But you can’t expect seven actors to perform at their top, peak level in the first show. I didn’t have time to be upset or depressed with the reviews, I was working so hard at the time."

However, there's something interesting at play: says Lewis, "Many of the principals, despite the popularity of the show, have begun to have second thoughts abou ttheir overwhelming success and potentially lengthy commitment." Jim Backus, who plays millionaire Thurston Howell III, admits that "I would like to do something maybe a little more worth-while or artistically satisfying. Bu tI enjoy the money and I certainly enjoy the recognition." Denver points out that "I don’t think I’ve reached my potential yet as an actor. I did play Falstaff in college." Wells adds that "I've studied the classics. Shakespeare is my favorite. I’d rather do Shakespeare than anything." And Tina Louise, perhaps the most outspoken in her dissatisfaction, says, "I don’t feel fulfilled doing these shows. Most are not quite inventive." Schwartz bristles at such comments; "I would think she would be delighted. She’s an integral part of a major hit. What else does an actress want?" Gee, Sherwood, I dunno. Maybe a chance to actually act? I guess you can't please everyone.

Gilligan's Island does, of course, run three years (a fourth season was supposedly axed in favor of retaining Gunsmoke), and it's fondly remembered today by many boomers. I must admit that, despite my fondness for the cast, Gilligan's Island has never been one of my favorite programs, and probably never will be. That doesn't mean that there isn't room for silly, dumb, slapstick humor on TV; otherwise, I wouldn't be spending so much time watching the Three Stooges. Still, I don't think the critics were entirely wrong about the show. Put to the test, I'd by far prefer the Henningverse shows, especially The Beverly Hillbillies and Green Acres. But the point, I guess, is that television ought to be big enough to encompass all these genres—comedy and drama, smart and stupid, high art and low. That television has manifestly failed in these endeavors is, I think, a topic for another day.

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MST3K alert: Bride of the Monster (1955) An intrepid female reporter investigates a mad scientist who is attempting to harness atomic energy to turn people into superhuman monsters. Bela Lugosi, Tor Johnson, Loretta King. (Thursday, 1:00 a.m., as part of KGO's All-Nite Movie) Two words: Ed Wood. It may not be Plan 9 from Outer Space, but it doesn't have to be, does it? However, it's worth watching for Harvey B. Dunn and his bird, and I don't have to say any more than that, do it?  TV  

Around the dial

David has another terrific piece at Comfort TV on expressions that were once commonplace enough that they could be used as premises in television episodes of teh day. I'm so conscious of this kind of thing when I write; if I refer to the Irish Sweepstakes, will anyone know what I'm talking about? Do you know what I'm talking about?

The "Sylvia Coleridge Season" continues at Cult TV Blog with the episode "The Link-Up" from Shoestring, the private detective series he's reviewed recently, and Sylvia's reole as "a beer-drinking radio ham" is one that could have been written for her. It's great how many British character actors you start to follow when you watch enough British TV.

Terence at A Shroud of Thoughts, Paul at Mavis Movie Madness! and Inner Toob all have features on the latest classic TV icon to pass from the scene, Jay North, who died of cancer at age 73. Best known for Dennis the Menace, North had a long career in the industry, and worked with fellow former child star Paul Petersen in supporting current and former child actors.

At A Vintage Nerd, Daffny reviews one of the great features of I Love Lucy: the cameo appearances of guest stars playing themselves. This is something that keeps popping up in Lucy's series through the years, all the way up to Life With Lucy, and it almost always made for a better, more entertaining episode.

Speaking of Lucy, at Classic Film and TV Corner, Maddie takes a look at "L.A. At Last!" from the fourth season of I Love Lucy; she also has a brief anecdote on how and when she discovered Lucy; it's always a lot of fun to read about people and their initial introductions to the classics. It's a moment of wonderment and discovery that stays with them.

Finally, a couple of shameless self-promotions: my latest "American TV with Mitchell Hadley episodes are up at Dan Schneider's Cosmoetica, a double-header on American news legends: Edward R. Murrorw here, followed by Walter Cronkite. You can also here me on the latest Eventually Supertrain, where Dan Budnick and I discuss Garrison's Gorillas. Any other Dans out there who'd like me as a guest? TV  

When giants ruled the news

I couldn't help but notice this factoid the other day, regarding the amount of trust Americans have in the way the mass media reports the news. As you can see from the chart below, the number who think that the media reports the news "fully, accurately and fairly" is pretty much at an all-time low, while the corresponding number who have no trust and confidence in the media is at an all-time high. 

It's a measure of how far we've come from the days when Walter Cronkite was the "most trusted man in America." The peak of American trust in the news media occurs in the mid-1970s—in the wake of Watergate and the Vietnam War—when over 70 percent had a "great deal/fair amount" of trust in what they saw on television news, heard on the radio, or read in newspapers; today, it's less than 40 percent.

This isn't any great surprise to those who've been paying attention over the last few years. Indeed, in many of the classic television groups I belong to, people lament the state of today's news and long for the days of the giants, names like Cronkite, Huntley and Brinkley, Brokaw, Jennings, Reynolds, and others. Back then, so the story goes, they gave us the news "they way it was" in an era of "honest, true media reporting," when news anchors "didn’t give their opinion of the news" and could be counted on to give us reporting that was neutral, unbiased, straightforward, and true. 

Of course, we ought to know better than this. As someone once observed, one of the interesting things about nostalgia is being old enough to remember how things were received at the time. And at that time—the Sixties, let's say, into the early Seventies—there was plenty of controversy about the news media. Remember Vice President Agnew's speech on the "Nattering Nabobs of Negativism"? That comment, and the positive response to it by many in America—the "Silent Majority," they were called—should remind us that at the time, the talking heads of the news, the anchor men, were seen as anything but neutral, unbiased, or straightforward. Granted, subsequent events, and the widespread cynicism that was borne from them, appeared to justify much of the news coverage in the 1960s, leading to the high approval rating that we see in the first years of the chart.

The accusation most frequently leveled against network newscasters was that they were presenting personal commentary, not identified as such, under the guise of reporting. It was enough to get Frank Reynolds sacked from the ABC Evening News; Reynolds, a passionate man about whom it could be said that at times he wore his heart on his sleeve, answered that "I think your program has to reflect what your basic feelings are. I'll plead guilty to that."* ABC came to be known during the Vietnam years, sardonically, as the "Administration Broadcasting Company," due in large part to Howard K. Smith's staunch support for the War. This was, mind you, the same Howard K. Smith who had been sacked at CBS after a documentary on the civil rights riots in Birmingham that he had sought (and failed) to conclude with Smith quoting Edmund Burke that, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing," 

*Listen to Reynolds opining on the need for gun control during ABC's coverage of Robert F. Kennedy's shooting; no matter how you feel about the issue, you have to wince a little at interjecting this kind of commentary into a breaking news situation.

NBC, anchored by the team of Chet Huntley and David Brinkley, was often thought to be the most liberal of the three networks. Brinkley, answering the charge that his reporting lacked objectivity, countered, "If I were objective, or if you were objective, or if anyone was, we would have to be put away in an institution because we'd be some kind of vegetable. Objectivity is impossible to a human being." Huntley, who had to backtrack from unflattering comments he'd made about Richard Nixon during an interview, insisted that he "never allowed his opinions to influence newscasts." His greatest controversy, perhaps, came after delivering a commentary in which he said that "the nation’s meat industry was 'sick' and that one of the consumer's greatest problems was 'too much fat in our beef' "; at the same time, he promoted "Chet Huntley’s Nature Fed Beef," which touted "quality and flavor, plus low fat and high protein." NBC ordered Huntley to "trim his name and face" from the product. 

And Cronkite, the most trusted man in America, found himself in the eye of the storm throughout the decade, from his controversial 1968 commentary following the Tet Offensive in which he pronounced the Vietnam War a "stalemate" and called for the United States to negotiate a way out*, to his tête-à-tête with Chicago's mayor Richard Daley during the 1968 Democratic Convention, when Cronkite called Daley's police force "a bunch of thugs," only to be accused of going soft on Daley in their interview the following night in an attempt to paper things over—a moment which Brinkley would refer to as "the low-water mark" of Cronkite’s career. Following that Tet commentary, Cronkite's critics would call him a traitor, and worse; his longetivity and avuncular nature would burnish his reputation over the years, but for a significant segment of the viewing audience, he would always remain a picture of liberal bias. And lest we forget, CBS's Daniel Schorr and Marvin Kalb were both on the list of Nixon's political opponents.

*According to this article, Cronkite's importance in the rise of public opposition to the war has been greatly overstated through the years. It should also be noted that Eric Sevareid, Cronkite's CBS colleague and commentator, had come to much the same conclusion about Vietnam in 1966, two years earlier. Nonetheless, LBJ was moved to pronounce that Cronkite was "out to get" him.

Now, my point in all this isn't to dump on these news giants. I grew up watching them give the evening news. Chet and David are still my favorite anchor team; I have the greatest admiration for Frank Reynolds, even though I frequently disagree with him; and Cronkite never came across as confused or misinformed. Harry Reasoner and Howard K. Smith were steady and authoritative, the closest team to Huntley and Brinkley. Peter Jennings was an excellent anchor, but you also respected him as, first and foremost, a reporter; he wasn't likely to make a statement such as free speech being a catalyst for the Holocaust, for example. As were so many others who gave the network news its credbility through the years: Frank McGee, Bill Ryan, John Chancellor, Jules Bergman, Robert MacNeil, Hughes Rudd, Liz Trotta, Marlene Sanders, and oftentimes Dan Rather. And don't forget Jim McKay; his work during the Munich Olympic Massacre in 1972 was as good as anything any reporter has ever done on live television.

You have to keep in mind, however, that no matter what you read, no matter what people remember when they talk about Cronkite, Brokaw, Jennings, et al, the news media has never not been controversial, never not subjected to accusations of bias. But what these news giants all had in common is that they did their jobs with a gravitas and professionalism that presumed a knowledge and command of events; their broadcasts presented hard news, done with a sense of authority, even elegance. One recalls Huntley, while giving a report on the Profumo affair in England in the 1960s, referring to Christine Keeler, not as a prostitute, but as a trollop; you got the idea that using the word "prostitute" was too common, beneath Huntley's dignity as a newsman. 

Yes, they had their biases; yes, there were probably too many times when they crossed the line between reporting and commentary. But for the most part, you didn't get the feeling that they were intentionally misrepresenting the news, distorting the truth, fabricating the stories, or simply suffering from incompetence. Whatever one might have thought of their opinionating, they couldn't be accused of disguising their motives or misleading the public as to where they stood.

Compare this to what we see too often on what passes for the news today. You get the impression, watching them emote, leading with their feelings, openly manipulating the facts by the very nature of the stories they choose, redefining news itself as "human interest." Granted, the way in which we get our news has changed irreversably; between social media and 24/7 news channels, the evening news can never be what it once was, a half hour roundup of the day's headlines. But there's just this sense that the people giving us the news, whether on the networks or cable, are not, for the most part, serious people. Instead, they give the impression of having gotten their jobs based on their looks, their smile, the way they dress, how they read off a teleprompter, or to fill in the blanks on a diversity checklist. Many critics suggest that the news anchors of the past would be appalled by the state of today's news, and I don't doubt this for a minute.

No, the point of this, and, I can assure you, there is a point, is that we don't have to pretend that the Cronkites, the Brinkleys, the Jenningses, were beyond reproach, that they never made mistakes, that they always and everywhere toed the line in an impartial, neutral manner. As reporters, they would insist that we present them as they were, not as we might want them to be. It is enough to say that they were giants, that they represented a time that seems long ago, and that we probably will never see their likes again. TV  

The Cuban Missile Crisis

Prior to the assassination of John F. Kennedy, what was the biggest breaking news story covered on television? Some might argue in favor of royal coronations or civil rights protests, but in terms of unfolding events, I'd suggest that we look back only one year, to 1962, and the Cuban Missile Crisis—what television historian Eric Barnouw called "the most sensational interruption" of America's daily television routine. 

For all that we hear nowadays about "existential threats" (whatever that's supposed to mean), it's difficult to appreciate just how frightened people were during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I recall my mother talking about how she held me on her lap (I was just two at the time), wondering if this was going to be it. She wasn't alone; for many people, the end of the world wasn't just an intellectual exercise to ponder, but a real possibility, with the United States and the Soviet Union ready to duke it out over Cuba.

We don't hear a lot about televison coverage of the crisis, primarily because there wasn't a lot of it, at least not compared to what we'd experience today. There were a variety of reasons for this: most of the action took place either out in the ocean, where American warships were in the process of assembling a blockade of Cuba, or behind closed doors in Washington and Moscow. There were no remotes, no on-the-spot lcoverage, no journalists embedded in combat units—a drawback for a medium based on visuals. There was also an embargo of official statements from government officials, which network news heads vigorously protested, limiting the news flow even further. Compared to the non-stop coverage we'd have today, with reports of the world "on the brink," talking heads analyzing the situation 24/7, and continuous video loops of ships circling at sea, I'm not sure we weren't better off with limited television presence. You can imagine the frenzy of anxiety it would have produced.

And yet, of course, there was coverage; in fact, a TV Guide letter to the editor complains about news bulletins interrupting daytime soap operas. The first news that most Americans had of the crisis came via President Kennedy's televised address to the nation on Monday, October 22, in which he descibed the situation, demanded that the Soviet Union remove the missiles in Cuba, and announced the naval blockade of Cuba. TV Guide's Henry Harding wrote in the November 3, 1962 issue that "The TV networks interrupted scheduled programs to prsent news bulletins, and hastily stitched together news specials bringing the viewers whatever facts could be gathered by correspondents all over the world. They switched to the UN for live pickups of the deliberations of the Security Council" (including UN Ambassador Adlai Stevenson's dramatic Security Council speech dramatic Security Council speech.)

But there's no question that coverage was limited. As Harding pointed out, "In a situation as critical as this, the information supplied by TV could never be adequate to satisfy the public's appetite and need to be informed." He added, however, that "it is some comfort to know that, as news breaks, a twist of the television dial can make it available to every American." (How true that would be a year later.)

Here are a couple of special broadcasts during the crisis: first, from October 23 (62 years ago today!), NBC's weekly news analysis program Chet Huntley Reporting presents an in-depth "Report on Cuba":

  

Next, Walter Cronkite anchors a CBS News Special Report on October 24, with reports from various CBS correspondents.

And from David Von Pein's excellent YouTube JFK news channel, here's a sampling of NBC News radio coverage from October 28.

For those interested in digging into it a little further, Robert MacNeil's long-form interview with the Television Academy includes this section on his experience covering the crisis. And in 1974, ABC presented an excellent (if not always trustworthy) dramatization, The Missiles of October. 

A little over a year later, Kennedy's assassination would completely change how television covered breaking news. Granted, in some ways it was an easier story to cover; at the same time, live remotes were still difficult to pull together, especially on short notice. Remember, no television or radio station was able to broadcast the announcement of Kennedy's death live, nor were they able to cover Lyndon Johnson's swearing-in aboard Air Force One at Love Field. Given the technical limitations of the time, it's a wonder that television was able to provide the coverage it did. 

I wonder: had the situation been reversed, had network news already "come of age" by demonstrating their ability to cover breaking news (and to do it well), would they have covered the Cuban Missile Crisis any differently? TV  

This week in TV Guide: June 16, 1962

It's been quite a few years now since the concept of "six degrees of separation"* was coined, the idea being that everyone in the world could be connected to everyone else by no more than six degrees. The same could be said, I suppose, for articles in TV Guide. To test this theory, let's take a look at this week's issue and see if we can bring it all the way from 1962 to today in six steps or less.

*Or "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon," if you prefer.

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1.  Right doctor, wrong role: Westinghouse Presents was an occasional series of dramas sponsored by the electronics giant, previous sponsor of Studio One. On Wednesday evening Westinghouse Presents features Margaret Leighton in "The First Day" (9:00 p.m. CT, CBS), the story of a woman returning to her former life after having been hospitalized for a nervous breakdown. Leighton's husband in the play is played by Ralph Bellamy, who the next year would star as Dr. Richard Starke in NBC's psychiatric drama The Eleventh Hour. I would presume that everything turns out all right for Leighton but, if not, perhaps she could make an appointment with Dr. Starke.

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2. Speaking of which: The Eleventh Hour was a spin-off from NBC's enormously successful doctor show Dr. Kildare, starring Richard Chamberlain as the young intern James Kildare, with Raymond Massey as his mentor, the veteran Dr. Leonard Gillespie. The two men share the cover of this week's issue, with the feature article focusing on Massey, whose signature role prior to Kildare was Abraham Lincoln, whom he portrayed several times on stage, screen and television. (There's a wonderful story at the always-reliable Wikipedia of how a fellow actor joked that Massey wouldn't be satisfied with his Lincoln impersonation until someone assassinated him.)

Massey won plaudits for his portrayal of Gillespie, a much more nuanced and less caricaturish performance than those rendered in the movies by Lionel Barrymore. He was a distinguished actor, with two stars on Hollywood's Walk of Fame (one for movies, one for television), and Dwight Whitney's article highlights some colorful aspects of his life: an uncle was a bishop, his older brother was Governor General of Canada, and the Massey family owned the Massey-Harris Harvester Company, which we would recognize today as the manufacturing giant Massey Ferguson. His first Broadway role came courtesy of Noel Coward and Norman Bel Geddes (mid-century design icon and father of Dallas' Barbara Bel Geddes), and his movie career started with an offer from Sir Gerald du Maurier, father of the famed novelist Daphne.*

*Who, as far as I could tell, never wrote a work adapted into a movie in which Massey appeared.

Massey was a dignified actor who always invested his roles with a sense of gravitas. Sadly, there aren't too many of those around anymore.

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3. Since you mentioned it:  In addition to his several portrayals of Lincoln, Raymond Massey also played the abolitionist John Brown in a pair of movies—Santa Fe Trail and Seven Angry Men—and onstage in a dramatic reading of Stephen Vincent Benét's Pulitizer Prize-winning poem John Brown's Body. And it's that very story, John Brown's Body, that CBS has on Thursday night at 7:30, preempting the police drama Brenner. This one doesn't star Massey, but it does feature Richard Boone as the Narrator, with Douglas Campbell as John Brown. In a couple of seasons, Boone will star on NBC in The Richard Boone Show, an anthology series with a rotating repertory cast. Despite critical praise, it only runs one season before being canceled, replaced by The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Boone finds out about it not from the network, but from the trade papers.

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4. Her stock is rising: Actress Diana Millay, as it happens, appeared in both The Man from U.N.C.L.E. and The Eleventh Hour. But that is all in the future; today, in addition to being one of the hardest-working actresses in New York (with nearly 100 live shows to her credit), the 23-year-old is also making her mark as a day trader in the stock market. While most actresses are concerned with their reviews, Millay can be seen pouring over Forbes and The Wall Street Journal between takes. Later she'll find more success in commercial real estate and fine art.

This article is typical of so many that have run in TV Guide over the years, and you might wonder if anything ever happened with Millay or if she faded to obscurity like many a starlet from previous profiles. But in this case, Diana Millay did all right for herself, assuring lasting fame as Laura Collins in Dark Shadows. No word on how much of a killing she made in the market.

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     Paul Anka and friend.

5. Did someone say "young star"? Any discussion of talented young performers has to include Paul Anka. At the time of this writing Anka is still 20—three years younger than Diana Millay—but in that time he's accomplished, well, let the statistics speak for themselves. At 15 he signed a contract with Don Costa at ABC/Paramount, and had his first hit: "Diana," which sold 8,500,000 copies. He followed that up with "Lonely Boy" and "Puppy Love," each of which were million-sellers. He's appeared as an actor in movies, most recently in the war drama The Longest Day, for which he also wrote the theme. According to the famed musical writing team of Comden and Green, "it is not too early to mention Paul Anka in the same breath with musical immortals." He's accessible, appearing constantly on variety shows: Sullivan, Como, Shore. He's a mean Password player. He makes well over a million dollars a year.

And he isn't even old enough to vote or drink.

The unbylined article portrays Anka as a driven businessman. He has little time for personal relationships, other than those that are part of the business. He has little time for girls, even though the broken romance is a staple of his songs. He's insecure; "I care about being liked. I want everybody to like me," he tells his interviewer. He's angered by those who resent his early success, and those who ridicule rock music in general.

What's particularly interesting about this article is that although Anka is already established as a major star in records, television and movies, his biggest hits are still ahead of him: "My Way," the Sinatra hit for which he wrote the English lyrics; "She's a Lady," the Tom Jones hit, and "Johnny's Theme," the Johnny in question being Johnny Carson. Among others. Not a bad career, hmm?

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6. What's old is new again: Paul Anka was payed a royalty every time the theme for The Tonight Show was played—over 1,400,000 times by one estimate. Every night Johnny's monologue began with that theme, and ended with Johnny's golf swing. And that brings us to the present day, and the highlight of the sporting week.

Palmer and Nicklaus: the changing of the guard

The U.S. Open golf championship, or the National Open as it was frequently called back in the day, is, then as now, this weekend's Big Sporting Event. Then, as now, it's being shown on NBC. But whereas this weekend's tournament runs for four days, concluding on Sunday, in 1962 the tournament is scheduled for three days, concluding on "Open Saturday" with a 36-hole marathon. And while a tie in this year's tournament will be decided by a two-hole playoff after the final round concludes, the national championship of 1962 ended in a tie that was decided by an 18-hole playoff the following day. 

Golf's reigning superstar, Arnold Palmer, is the hometown hero (from nearby Latrobe), and having shared the lead after the second and third rounds, everything seems to point to his second Open championship. However, at the end of 72 holes Palmer finds himself tied with a rising star: the 22-year-old Jack Nicklaus, who had been the low amateur at the last two Opens. The two meet in a playoff on Sunday, in front of a raucously pro-Palmer crowd. Jack leads Arnold by four shots after six holes and goes on to a three-shot victory. It's the start of the Nicklaus dynasty: his first professional win, and the first of his 18 major professional championships. Palmer, who had won the Masters earlier in the year and will add the British Open in July, takes his third Masters in 1964, but after that never wins another major title.

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And there you have it: from Margaret Leighton in "The First Day" to the U.S. Open in the present day, all in six steps. Not bad, hmm?

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If you wanted to, you could probably go from the female news reporters of 1962 to the news stars of today in six degrees or less. But it was tough being a pioneer in television news back then, and if you don't believe me, ask the women who are out there breaking the barrier, women like Lisa Howard. She's scored major interviews with the likes of Nikita Khruschev and Fidel Castro, she's covered political conventions and news stories, and yet, Time describes her as "blonde, curvy . . . a package guaranteed to lure males," who used her "looks" to "further her career." 

And then there's Nancy Hanschman Dickerson of CBS, whose two-year career in Washington has been marked by "scoop interviews with tough politicians." According to one male journalist, though, "She uses her very feminine appeal to get politicians to open up and talk." (Oddly enough, TV Guide itself describes Dickerson as "a sleek, equally curvy brunette.") Now, it's true that unless your name happens to be Mike Wallace, being charming and delightful certainly helps when it comes to getting newsmakers to open up; equally, Fox News is living proof that journalistic ability is not a be-all and end-all when it comes to making a splash on television. Nevertheless, Howard and Dickerson, along with NBC's UN correspondent Pauline Frederick, have demonstrated that while being attractive and personable might help one get a break, you're not going to be able to stay there unless you've got the ability to handle hard news. 

L-R: Lisa Howard, Nancy Dickerson, Pauline Frederick

Howard, who prior to working in news spent time as a soap opera actress on The Edge of Night and As the World Turns, has been involved in politics for five years, as well as writing articles for The Economist. and says that her scoops have come "not because I'm pretty—it's because I'm determined, aggressive." She points to a recent interview with New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller: "I found out where he was going to be—at a luncheon at the Commodore Hotel. I showed up with the camera in front of the hotel. He fled. I took the camera up to the luncheon and plugged it in front of the elevators to catch him on the way out. He went down the back stairs. I rushed to the next elevator stop, set up my cameras in his path. I threw him an important question. He couldn't refuse to answer so I got an interview. I heard someone behind me say, 'Dammit, she's done it again.' Now, that's not because I'm a woman. It's because I was unrelenting." 

Dickerson (whose son John is today a correspondent for CBS) relates the prejudice female journalists have to live with on a daily basis. "Do you realize that the National Press Club doesn't discriminate against public relations people, against lobbyists, against Negroes, but does discriminate against women? When guests like Nehru, Churchill, Khrushchev speak at the National Press Club, we women reporters can go sit in the balcony—but we cannot be luncheon guests." She chuckles that, because men make it so hard for women to get in the business, those women who do succeed are "really very good at their work. I suspect they are far better than most of the men. That's how it always is with persecuted minorities."

Frederick, who's been in the business longer and is, of the three, the least glamorous (she's praised as one who "covers the news like a man") recalls that in her early days, she was constantly sent to cover "women's stories." "I finally asked my boss why. He said, 'We're afraid that if people hear a woman discussing anything as serious as the UN, they won't listen. A woman's voice doesn't carry authority." She snorts at the memory: "I'm pretty sure his wife's voice carried authority!" She complains that the network is trying to turn her into a glamor girl as well; "At NBC they said I should change my hair style, take off my glasses, change the type of clothes I wear. . . I don't want to be appreciated for glamor. I want to be appreciated for my work." She sighs. "Apparently people look at a woman first and listen second. When a man is on the air, they listen first. I suppose I react that way myself."

And yet women continue to make inroads; Anne Morrissy, a "girl reporter" for ABC's American Newsstand, will cover the Vietnam War for ABC, while Phyllis Hepp is currently filing reports from Africa as a stringer for NBC. One can only conclude that, whether male reports like it or not, whether networks like it or not, "glamor in TV news is here to stay." 

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Notes from the Teletype and more:  In the works for the coming season: The Patty Duke Show, Lee Marvin's Lawbreakers, and Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol. All of them made it to the small screen, and all of them make it to DVD. . . Future Oscar winner Marvin stars this week in "The Richest Man in Bogota," based on the sci-fi story by H.G. Wells, on the DuPont Show of the Week (Sunday, 9:00 p.m., NBC) . . . NBC announces that 68% of its prime-time programs for the 1962-63 season will be in color, compared with 57% this season and 41% a year ago. NBC remains the dominant player in the color television market, which proves that being owned by RCA pays dividends . . .The 1962 TV Guide Awards will air next week on NBC, headlined by Judy Holliday, Art Carney and Dave Garroway. . .Premiering this week on CBS daytime: To Tell The Truth, which adds the daytime component to its long-running nighttime run, now in its sixth season (Monday through Friday, 2:30 p.m.). The prime-time version will run until 1967, daytime ends a year later. Additionally, longtime soaps The Brighter Day (10:30 a.m.) and The Secret Storm (3:00 p.m.) expand from 15 minutes to a half-hour, leaving only The Guiding Light and Search For Tomorrow in the old radio-era length. Both will finally go to 30 minutes in 1968, bumping—To Tell The Truth.

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By the way, if you really do want to play this game with Kevin Bacon, then step 6 is as follows: Paul Anka was in Mad Dog Time with Diane Lane, who was in My Dog Skip with Kevin Bacon. See how easy it is? TV