This week in TV Guide: June 22, 1968

The nation still reels from the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy a little over two weeks ago, and television is no exception.

Periodically throughout its history, the medium's majordomos have engaged in bouts of soul-searching, and as television increases in cultural importance, it displays something of a schizophrenic attitude regarding its responsibility to society. In the aftermath of the assassinations of Kennedy and Martin Luther King, as well as increasing urban turmoil, all eyes turn toward the effect that TV might have had on creating a "climate of violence."

This week, Richard K. Doan asks the question: "Had television's violence-prone "action-adventure" drama contributed substantially to today's climate of solution-by-murder?" People from all walks debate the issue, from historian (and Kennedy camp follower) Arthur Schlessinger to playwright Arthur Miller to the president of the United States himself, who asks "whether 'the seeds of violence' have been nurtured by TV, movies and news media." The Louisville Times refers to "America the Brutal," and points the finger at TV as "a root" of the evil, using a picture of Richard Boone as Paladin in Have Gun—Will Travel as evidence. (I know it's hard to believe, considering what one sees on TV nowadays, but at one time Have Gun—Will Travel was considered one of the most violent programs on television.

New York Representative John Murphy condemns the networks, saying that "[n]ight after night one program after the other shows violence in great detail and in living color." Miller, the playwright, says that the country was now at the stage where "any half-educated man in a good suit can make his fortune by concocting a television show whose brutality is photographed in sufficiently monstrous detail."

It's not just politicians and pundits raising Cain, though, as a perusal of the Letters to the Editor section shows. Casey Willis of Tucson complains that although there have been hundreds of gun killings in the U.S., "many of the most popular shows on TV have been based on firearms and violence," and suggests that TV "should search its own soul." Mary Hendrickson of Hudson, NY adds that "I can censor my own children's programs, but what of the children whose parents don't know or care what is pounded into their impressionable little heads?" TV has done a good job covering the recent tragedies; now, "do something to prevent them." And P. Corcoran of the Bronx says that "TV is one of the worst offenders in this crime" of violence flooding the country, citing Mission: Impossible as one of the shows "warping our youngsters."

Of course, there's one problem with these theories: the possibility, if not probability, that Kennedy's assassination was a political act. We're not here to debate the identities of the individuals or organizations behind the assassination, but we are talking about the television's culpability in the murder, and so it bears pointing out that if Sirhan Sirhan, who was convicted of Kennedy's murder, was indeed guilty, then one also has to accept that his motive was not the violent content on TV, but a hatred of Kennedy for his support of Israel, and that the act itself was planned in a cold, calculating manner. If, on the other hand, the assassination was part of a conspiracy (whether or not it included Sirhan), then you have to conclude that the killing was a geopolitical act, involving the FBI, the CIA, the military, the LAPD, or any one of countless organizations, and requiring a fairly high level of coordination. In either case, this leaves no room for televised violence as a cause. Political zealots probably don't have time to watch television let alone be influenced by it, and it's highly unlikely that the conspirators at the FBI got the idea from watching Seven Days in May on Saturday Night at the Movies. It probably would have happened even if the most violent thing on television was a fluffy white kitten attacking a ball of yarn.

Be that as it may—and, as we all know, there's no room for logic when emotion is involved—the ensuing hue and cry virtually demands a response from network executives, and one shape this takes is by pulling its most violent episodes off the air, at least for the short term. NBC also released a statement assuring the public that they "have established policies and procedures to guard against the depiction of violence fore its own sake," while CBS president Frank Stanton promised that the network  "would seek to 'de-emphasize' violence" on their programs.

One testimony to the effect of the assassination on television is the slew of shows bearing the legend "Postponed from an earlier date," the heaviest concentration of which appear on Saturday. Although network coverage of the assassination and aftermath were nowhere near the 1963 levels, all three networks preempted virtually all of their Saturday programming for Kennedy's funeral and burial. The intent had been to return to regular programming at the start of prime time, but the funeral train was four-and-a-half hours late, and the entire slate wound up being wiped out. The Prisoner, Hogan's Heroes, The Dating Game, Petticoat Junction, an ABC profile of land speed-record holder Craig Breedlove—all were victims of the accordion effect of postponements and rescheduling. (The Breedlove documentary finally airs this Saturday at 4:00 p.m. PT on ABC.)

And so the landscape changes, for a time, and kinder, gentler programming will now be the fashion, with programs such as The Wild Wild West no longer on network schedules. But for how long? (As Doan points out, four days later NBC's action series The Champions featured a scene in which one of the show's heroes "was tortured by being stretched on an automobile version of the medieval rack.) I suppose there's any number of studies that could isolate when the trend toward more violent fare resumed, and let's face it: no matter how noble the intent might be, ultimately ratings (and the concurrent advertising dollars) rule, and the viewers cast the deciding votes. The level of violence on television today is astonishing; I can't imagine what the people, who were so aghast at '60s violence, would think of it. One could argue that, having grown up in a so-called culture of violence, people are more inured to it, making them less likely to be influenced by it. And yet, things seldom change much: every time there's a school shooting or bombing or other act of violence, the cry arises once again. If it's not television, it's video games; if not that, then something else.

For a long time, television has attempted to have it both ways, downplaying the influence its programs have on viewers' behavior while at the same time accepting ads designed to influence viewers' behavior. That's always seemed a bit disingenuous to me. Of course the content of television programming affects viewers. Likewise, though, there can't be much doubt that the audience is receptive and willing. It's a chicken-and-egg situation: does the problem lie with the programming, or the people watching it?

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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: On this first in a series of reruns, CBS renames its Broadway theater in honor of Ed. Guests: New York City mayor John Lindsay, Pearl Bailey, Alan King, Met baritone Robert Merrill, actress-dancer Gwen Verdon, comedians Wayne and Schuster, the Argentine singing group Los Nimos Cantores de Murialdo, and the Emerald Society pipe bands of New York's police and fire departments.

Palace: Host Sid Caesar dominates this hour of comedy and music. Guests: Marlo Thomas (who narrates a showing of 1968 resort fashions), singers Sergio Franchi and Fran Jeffries, and the rocking Checkmates, Ltd. In a mime spot, Sid conducts Tchaikovsky’s "1812 overture."  Sketch: The hiring of a too-attractive maid brews trouble for three neighboring couples. 

I suppose that we should be impressed by New York Mayor John Lindsay's appearance at the dedication of the Ed Sullivan Theater; CBS could just as well have had William Paley make the presentation instead. (Of course, Lindsay was the flavor of the month back then.) It's a bug, not a feature; even so, no matter how good Sid Caesar might be, Marlo Thomas and the Checkmates are not going to edge out Pearl Bailey, Alan King and Robert Merrill. Never mind the politicians: this week, my vote goes to Sullivan.

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The summer months mean not only reruns, but summer replacement series. We'll start, however, with Kup's Show (Saturday, 9:00 p.m., KEMO in San Francisco), hosted by the legendary Chicago Sun-Times columnist Irv Kupcinet. At three hours, it's the longest talk show on television (not including David Susskind's Open End, which could last who-knows-how-long), but it's often worth it. Tonight's guests are indeed an eclectic collection: Alf Landon, former governor of Kansas and the unsuccessful 1936 Republican presidential candidate (they wouldn't win until 1952); Charlie Grimm, former manager of the Chicago Cubs, who managed them to the World Series in 1945 (they wouldn't be back for another 71 years); and Arlene Francis, who doesn't seem to fit any of these categories but is a delightful presence nonetheless.

CBS must be breathing a sigh of relief; the Smothers Brothers are on vacation for the summer, and in their place is  The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour (Sunday, 9:00 p.m.). Glen's special guest tonight is Nancy Sinatra, and they'll be joined by Smothers regulars Pat Paulsen and Leigh French. Campbell, riding a string of hits (with more on the way), is everything that a network could hope for from a variety show host, and he'll do well enough in the ratings to merit a return engagement the following January, where he remains until January 1972.  

Monday night sees the debut of Comedy Playhouse (9:00 p.m., NBC), a collection of comedy episodes that originally appeared on Bob Hope Presents the Chrysler Theater back in 1966. Monty Hall is the host this time around, and we start things off with "And Baby Makes Five," a frothy story about the differences between city and country life, with a cast that makes up for the plot: Cliff Robertson, Angie Dickinson, Nina Foch, and Walter Abel.

Tuesday's a night for summer variety shows, beginning with Showcase '68 (8:00 p.m., NBC), hosted by Lloyd Thaxton, which serves as the replacement for The Jerry Lewis Show. The show highlights young entertainers performing for a group of guest judges; tonight's show comes from the World's Fair in San Antonio, Texas, with Bobby Vinton as the special guest. A more conventional variety show is the similarly-named Showtime (8:30 p.m., CBS), the summer stand-in for The Red Skelton Hour, this week with Eddy Arnold as host. Showtime is one of a number of British imports produced by Lew Grade's ITC Entertainment, a mainstay of 60s TV; other shows of theirs finding spots in the American summer schedule include the terrific Man in a Suitcase (Friday, 8:30 p.m., ABC), in place of its Disney-wannabee Off to See the Wizard; the aforementioned The Champions (Monday, 8:00 p.m., NBC), subbing for Laugh-In; and The Prisoner (Saturday, 7:30 p.m., CBS), filling in for The Jackie Gleason Show. 

Wednesday's highlight comes in the late-night hours, with the 1950 noir classic D.O.A. (12:15 a.m., KBHK in San Francisco), starring Edmund O'Brien as a poisoned man trying to solve his own murder before he dies. If that's too late for you, you might be interested in Kraft Music Hall (9:00 p.m., NBC), with John Davidson finishing up his stint as host, and guests including Kaye Ballard, Soupy Sales, and the Irish Rovers. I wouldn't be interested, but you might. You might also choose the ABC Evening News (5:30 p.m.), which has an extended report on cryonics—the practice of freezing the dead bodies of disease victims until a cure can be found. It's a wonder Walt Disney didn't do a science feature on this.

Dean Martin never worked summers, and this year his replacement is none other than the Golddiggers, the singing and dancing group of luscious lovelies that first appeared with Deano in the spring. Appearing in Dean's regular timeslot (Thursday, 10:00 p.m., NBC), the Golddiggers will go on to be the top-rated series of the summer; they'll also be the summer replacement for Martin in 1969 and 1970, and that fall they become regulars on his show. Tonight's show is headed up by Joey Heatherton and Frank Sinatra Jr., with guests Paul Lynde, Barbara Heller, the Times Square Two, Stanley Myron Handelman, Stu Gilliam, and Skiles and Henderson. 

Friday night features the first college football game of the season, the late and unlamented Coaches' All-America Game, played in Atlanta. (5:30 p.m., ABC) It's actually the last game of the 1967 college season, since both teams are staffed by seniors about to join NFL training camps.* Recognizable names: UCLA quarterback Gary Beban, winner of the Heisman Trophy, Syracuse fullback Larry Csonka, one of the stalwarts of Miami's Super Bowl teams; and USC's Ron Yary, the first pick in the 1968 NFL Draft and an all-pro for Minnesota; both Csonka and Yary are now in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

*This game, like the much-loved College All-Star Game that pitted college stars against the defending NFL champions, was a victim of increased concerns over injuries, and pro teams' desires to get their players in camp earlier. It lasted, believe it or not, until 1976.

The CBS Friday night movie is A Night to Remember (9:00 p.m.), the 1958 story of the sinking of the Titanic, starring Kenneth More, David McCallum, and Honor Blackman. Judith Crist rightly calls Eric Ambler's screenplay an "outstanding" adaptation of Walter Lord's best-seller, and describes it as a movie "that you should not miss." Longtime readers will recall that the story of the Titanic has been one of my lifetime passions, and this movie (I'd already read the book) solidified that passion 

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Documentaries and news specials are always popular in the summer; they're not reruns, and they aren't preempting first-run episodes of popular series. That might be a cynical take, but this week's programming backs it up. CBS weighs in the crisis in America's cities with The Cities, a three-part look at the staggering problems facing America's urban areas, which airs at 10:00 p.m. on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. The question confronting the country is "whether black and white can share a Nation's cities in peace and dignity." A heavy question then, and one that's still being asked today.

On Thursday at 10:00 p.m., ABC ups the ante with the first in a six-part examination of racism in America (not on consecutive nights, thankfully); "Bias and the Media," hosted by Frank Reynolds, looks at "the mass media’s portrayal of and discrimination against the Negro, and their effect on the black community," concentrating on job discrimination within the industry and the stereotypes being perpetuated by it. Reynolds is joined by Harry Belafonte, Lena Horne, psychiatrist Alvin Poussaint, and black nationalist poet-critic Lawrence Neal.

The talk isn't limited to network programming; San Francisco station KRON's Assignment Four (Thursday, 7:00 p.m.) examines "Our Delinquent Society" through a week in the life of Berkeley policemen Roy Nedro, from the daily meeting in the squad room to calls dealing with robbery, domestic quarrels, fires, and other emergencies.

Not everything's so heavy, though; ABC presents a repeat of the Jacques Cousteau special "The Savage World of the Coral Jungle," narrated by Rod Serling and Captain Cousteau. (Tuesday, 8:30 p.m.) The "graceful movements of ocean life" must be soothing indeed to viewers frazzled by the rest of the news.

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We'll wrap up this week's review with Robert Higgins's profile of  "intergalactic golden boy" William Shatner, who's hit it big with Star Trek, but he's not a happy man. He's a classically trained actor, a veteran of Shakespearean productions and high-class TV dramas, but as he said, "A plaque on the wall doesn't by baby food." The man who wowed audiences as Henry V when he was 22 and has a lengthy list of credits in television has found that success doesn't necessarily translate to happiness, nor does flying around the universe lead to professional satisfaction. When a dream dies, he says, "there’s such a terrible void, such a loss. I find myself clinging to times when life was a joy, a thing to cherish. Today, I’d characterize success as security and love."

He's struggling in other ways as well.  His father died a year ago, he's now separated from his wife of 10 years, and he sees his life as "an empty pit." He hungers for friends, but finds only fans; "people who’ve known me since I was born want my autograph. I want to yell out, 'Hey, I’m not different. Give me your arms, not your pens.'" 

Higgins leaves us with a classic Shatner moment though, one that you can almost hear as you read it on the page. Addressing the National Conference of Christians and Jews, the Shat tells the audience that "I'm a Jew, but I do not believe in your God...I do know we are all afraid of dying...we are all afraid of loneliness. Those are universal truths. Are you scared? I'm scared...I love you...I need you."

The words of a transformed man, don't you think?

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MST3K alert: The Undead (1957) A reincarnation researcher follows a harlot’s soul back 1000 years—and finds that in her first life she was condemned to die for witchcraft. Pamela Duncan, Richard Garland, Allison Hayes. (Saturday, 1:35 p.m., KGO in San Francisco) "I've never known more about what isn't going on in a movie," Mike says about this melodrama featuring shape-shifters, imps (played by Billy Barty!), witches, and the Devil, all directed by Roger Corman. If that isn't nightmare fuel, I don't know what is. TV  

Five days in June

Today marks the 54th anniversary of the funeral of Robert F. Kennedy. I'm currently reading a book about his presidential campaign—totally coincidental, I might add; I don't have enough foresight to plan this kind of thing—and not long ago finished one examining the evidence against Sirhan. So, what with the occasional flashbacks I've been seeing pop up in the last few days, it's difficult not to have it on the mind, especially if you remember the moment. Here's something I wrote several years ago about those times, lightly edited for improvement. It still holds up pretty well, if I do say so myself.

It was the middle of the night when Robert F. Kennedy was shot following his victory in the California primary—arguably the biggest American news event ever to occur during the overnight hours. Kennedy gave his victory speech at a quarter past midnight Pacific time—3:15 a.m. on the East Coast—and in those wee hours of the early morning, many people would get their first news of the shooting not from television, but from radio.* In the days before 24/7 television, it's not hard to imagine people lying in bed with the radio on, unable to sleep, listening to a late-night music program when the news broke, and thereafter continuing to lay there in the stillness of the dark, listening to disembodied voices describing what had happened in far-away Los Angeles. 

*According to a contemporary poll, 56% first received the news on radio. And most people didn't even find out until they'd gotten up that morning; less than 20% had heard the news by 5:00 a.m. ET. By 7:00 a.m., however, 15.9% of all homes with television were watching; on a usual morning, the figure was 1.6%

In Minneapolis, Franklin Hobbs was hosting his popular overnight music program "Hobbs House" on clear channel WCCO-AM, and he presented wire-service reports until CBS came on the air with network coverage.* One thing that stands out from these contemporary bulletins is how fresh in the memory the assassination of JFK still was—RFK is often referred to as "the brother of assassinated President John Kennedy." One report talked of Kennedy's eyes being "open but unseeing," and Hobbes, perhaps trying to keep listeners from panicking, cautions that this might be an "overly-dramatic" report.

*Those early reports had Kennedy being shot in the hip; I've never been sure if someone originally misunderstood "head" as "hip," or if they confused the wounds with those of one of the other bystanders who'd been shot.

I've referred in the past to television as being the most intimate form of communications, but radio can be even more intimate, more one-on-one, especially at nighttime. Television reporters talk at you, their words providing a backdrop to the dominant pictures, while radio reporters talk to you, and the effect can be far more intimate.* And so, lacking the images that television could provide, radio reporters were forced to paint word pictures for their listeners, and these disembodied voices, speaking in that lonely darkness of Wednesday morning, create an unreal, almost surrealistic atmosphere. 

*As any baseball fan can tell you.

Imagine listening to the reports as you lay in bed during those small hours, your bedside alarm clock silently glowing. Perhaps you were agitated, you had to get up and walk around, slipping on your robe, trying to comprehend this latest horror in a year of increasing horrors—as you looked out your window, was the neighborhood shrouded in blackness, with only the radio voices breaking the dead night? Did you lay there, unwilling or perhaps even afraid to turn on the lights, preferring the shelter of the night, your agony a silent and solitary one? Or did lights begin to snap on in houses up and down the block as the news spread, and did you perhaps call a friend or family member yourself, compelled to share your agitation with others? 

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The television networks scrambled to get back on the air. Tabulation of the vote had been miserably slow, in spite of—or perhaps, as Howard K. Smith noted wryly, because of—new automated voting equipment. Therefore, coverage had already stretched more than two hours beyond the planned cutoff by the time Kennedy came down to the ballroom of the Ambassador Hotel to claim victory. He then left the stage, cutting through the pantry behind the ballroom, headed for a press conference that was never held.

By this time, according to Broadcasting magazine, CBS had already ended their coverage, and in New York ,anchor Joseph Benti was across the street at a bar, unwinding a bit after the long broadcast. As news spread, he raced back to the studio and went on the air with the bulletin. At NBC, the only one of the three networks to be broadcasting from Los Angeles, Frank McGee, having received unconfirmed reports in his earpiece, vamped for a few minutes, keeping the studio coverage live until the report could be confirmed. ABC, the only network yet to project Kennedy as the winner, was in the process of signing off in favor of Joey Bishop's show; the credits were actually rolling when the first report came in, and after a couple of "please stand by" announcements, Howard K. Smith returned with the news.

WPIX in New York broadcast the single word "Shame" for over
two hours Wednesday morning as RFK underwent surgery.

Kennedy underwent surgery early that Wednesday morning; expected to last less than an hour, it instead ran for almost four. The networks maintained continuous coverage throughout the morning; in ABC's case, devoting Dick Cavett's morning talk show to commercial-free discussion of the breaking story. (See here and here.)

Kennedy clung to life for over 24 hours, and his passing, like the shooting itself, came in the middle of the night. Throughout Wednesday afternoon and evening, networks provided periodic medical bulletins and special reports, otherwise maintaining a semblance of their regular programming, albeit with subtle changes: ABC cancelled a planned repeat of the murder mystery Laura (featuring Lee Radziwill, Jackie Kennedy's sister). Wednesday's Joey Bishop Show was expanded to two hours, commercial free, and included an interview with Andrew West of Mutual Broadcasting, who had been only feet away from Kennedy when the shots were fired, resulting in a memorable radio broadcast.

Kennedy died just after 4:30 a.m. Eastern time Thursday morning. and the networks remained on the air until noon, returning later in the afternoon for the departure of the plane returning his body to New York. CBS preempted its primetime schedule for continuous coverage, while ABC and NBC presented special broadcasts following an abbreviated schedule. ABC substituted episodes of less violent episodes of The Avengers and The Flying Nun,* and Johnny Carson devoted that night's entire Tonight Show to the assassination. Meanwhile, on NET, Fred Rogers presented the first primetime episode of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood to help parents talk about the assassination with their children.

*The Flying Nun too violent? Oh, yes; that night's storyline involved Sr. Bertrille finding herself in the middle of a mob hit.

Kennedy's body lay in state in St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York throughout Friday. The funeral Mass was held there on Saturday, and then the body was taken by funeral train to Washington, D.C. where he was buried next to his brother on Saturday night.

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YouTube is loaded with television coverage of John F. Kennedy's assassination, and there's a good chunk of broadcast material from Robert F. Kennedy's as well, including the initial broadcasts from all three networks. When hard news wasn't being rehashed, discussion turned to the issues of violence in American (in general) and gun control (in particular), not only on programs like The Dick Cavett Show, but from news commentators as well. If you want proof, look no further than Frank Reynolds and his impassioned commentary on gun control during ABC's Wednesday morning coverage.

These television broadcasts are all fascinating, as they would be to someone who runs a blog called It's About TV!, but it's the radio coverage I want to return to. I began by discussing how the news spread on radio, and thanks to this amazing collection of radio broadcasts we can hear how the coverage proceeds throughout the early morning hours on Wednesday, to the announcement of Kennedy's death Thursday, and the funeral and burial on Saturday. Particularly interesting is Arthur Godfrey's shrewd commentary on his CBS morning show Thursday. Amid the calls for restrictions on guns and other liberties, Godfrey says, people will say that "there ought to be a law." But, he continues, "We can only hope and pray that reason will continue to prevail...the danger at hand, it seems to me, is that men of questionable purpose will find an excuse in what's happened to alter our system, to use our emotional state as a cover for rushing through some repressive laws that purport to cure the ills of society. In my view it's not a time for hysterical action or pejorative oratory." Godfrey was a master of communication, it's true, but even so it's difficult to imagine that a television commentator (other than, perhaps, Ronald Reagan), could make the same connection to an audience.

In much the same way, radio coverage of Saturday's funeral and burial provides a dimension different from that of television. Without the fillers that TV pictures provide, the announcers were forced to describe the unfolding events, and during the many times when nothing at all was happening, their commentary provided nothing so much as an insight into their own hearts. During the funeral, covered on CBS radio by Douglas Edwards and Maury Robinson, the men struggle with the unfamiliar "new" liturgy of the Catholic Church (a hybrid between the old Latin Tridentine rite and the soon-to-be-revealed Vatican II Novus Ordo), all the while explaining the significance of the words and gestures occurring in front of them.

Images of Saturday (upper): Ted Kennedy eulogizes his brother; Leonard Bernstein conducts the New York Philharmonic in the Adagietto from Mahler's Seventh; (lower) a passenger train coming from the other direction kills two in New Jersey; RFK is laid to rest hours behind schedule. 

Without the pictures, the listener is forced to remember not the sights, but the sounds, of those events: the quivering voice of Edward Kennedy eulogizing his brother; the mournful strains of Mahler's Adagietto accompanying the procession of Kennedy youngsters as they brought the Communion offerings to the altar, the smooth, sad voice of Andy Williams singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" as the pallbearers prepare to remove the casket from the Cathedral. Amazingly, near the end of Kennedy's funeral, a news update informs us that James Earl Ray, accused of assassinating Martin Luther King a mere two months before, had been apprehended in London. News, like death, takes no holiday.

The funeral train taking Kennedy's body from New York to Washington was both a tribute and, in some respects, a fiasco. Two people were killed in Elizabeth, New Jersey by an express train travelling in the opposite direction, and after that the Penn Central shut down northbound rail traffic. The funeral train was almost five hours late in arriving in Washington, travelling slowly to afford the crowds, estimated at perhaps two million people, a better chance to view it. It had been expected that the burial would occur in late afternoon or early evening, and Major League Baseball had rescheduled the day's games to the evening, to start after the ceremony. Instead, the first pitches were thrown as the train continued its slow progress; the actual burial didn't occur until after 10:00 p.m. Eastern. On television the remote images showed the train pulling into Washington's Union Station; on radio, one hears only the lonely ringing of the train's bell. As the motorcade processes down Constitution Avenue to Arlington, a radio reporter apologizes for not being able to provide better coverage, but the darkness combined with the leafy canopy formed by the trees lining the street served to obscure her view. George Herman, anchoring CBS' radio coverage, mentions the Kennedy people asking CBS to pass along a request to those lining the funeral route and listening to transistor radios that they light a match as the cortege passes by.

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I was eight years old in 1968, and I have more of a personal memory of Robert Kennedy's death than that of John's. I watched the coverage the day through, not really understanding or appreciating what I was saying. I was upset that the baseball game had been preempted, and as the day and night wore on I hung in there, waiting for the Bedtime Nooz, Channel 4's late-Saturday night satiric comedy news show. When it did air, as the hour approached midnight, it was done straight, without humor. Again, I was disappointed.

Watching and listening to the events from that week (covered in fascinating detail in this issue of Broadcasting) has provided an opportunity to reflect on everything that happened, and how it was broadcast. Nineteen sixty-eight had already been an eventful, grim year: the Tet Offensive, Eugene McCarthy's challenge to President Johnson and LBJ's subsequent decision not to seek reelection, the assassination of Martin Luther King, race riots, war protests, and now this. Still to come was the tumultuous Democratic convention in Chicago and the election; one of the few bright spots was Apollo 8's memorable Christmas Eve trip around the moon.

As such, I think the American people were a more cynical lot, numbed somewhat to the events that seemed to cascade, one after another, throughout the year. Whereas JFK's assassination was truly shocking, if not incomprehensible, by June of 1968 the assassination of Robert Kennedy was all-too believable. And perhaps that's what made it such a deeply sad event for so many, for without the anesthesia of shock to cushion the blow, the emotions that had been rubbed raw were there for the taking. It was so stunning, so unexpected, so quick. I may not have been aligned with John and Robert Kennedy on most issues, but I admired their style, the words they used, way they connected with the people. And the events of that week in June were heartbreaking on so many levels: the political, the personal, the familial. 

That night, in recounting the "stunning tragedy" of Robert F. Kennedy, ABC's Keith McBee reviewed the "unique, painful events" of Saturday, June 8, 1968. Those two descriptions combined the best of the elements we've discussed, picture and sound. It was, indeed, a unique, painful, and tragic week. TV  

Bringing the past to life

It isn't often that I use one of your comments as the focal point for an article of my own (also known as "theft" in some corners, but we're all friends here), but last week a reader named "Toad" left a comment on something I'd written five years ago, and I was afraid it wouldn't be seen by enough people if I didn't bring it to your attention.*

*I'll bet many of you didn't know I actually pay attention to your comments. I don't respond to them often enough, but I do read them. 

There's another reason I want to share Toad's comment with you, though. He'd read my 2016 story about ABC's as-it-happened coverage of Robert F. Kennedy's shooting. It brought back a lot of memories for him, in a way that books, movies, and even newspapers aren't able to. "Watching this particular non-stop footage puts you in the moment, almost as if it is still happening live somehow, on a continuous loop," he wrote. "I had the feeling I get while watching actual live moments, like if you wished hard enough, you could help control the outcome."

Ever since I started this website, I've maintained that television should be regarded as an original source document, a form of entertainment that serves to place events in context, to give the viewer an idea of how things were "back then." Programs made in the 1950s and 1960s show what those decades were like in a way that period pieces like Mad Men are incapable of doing. Watching the final game of the 1965 World Series, played in the afternoon with the shadows acting as an hourglass, creeping across the diamond as the innings wear on, you're transported back in time, and things come alive. And when you watch breaking news, as was the case with Toad, you allow yourself a few moments to hope, that this time events might end differently. 

In short, Toad, you've justified the reason I've spent more than ten years writing "It's About TV." It's the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long time.

Here's what Toad had to say:

I watched all 7 hours of the ABC footage throughout the week upon hearing the news that Sirhan Sirhan may be released from prison soon. I was born in 1969 so I have only heard or seen things associated with the Kennedy assassinations way after the fact. My grandparents loved the Kennedys so I learned a lot about them growing up. And I have always sought out new documentaries or footage I hadn't yet seen. Watching this particular non-stop footage puts you in the moment, almost as if it is still happening live somehow, on a continuous loop. I had the feeling I get while watching actual live moments, like if you wished hard enough, you could help control the outcome. Even knowing that RFK would be dead in a number of hours, I got a feeling of hopefulness watching the doctor tell us that all was not lost. Kennedy was shot in the head, sure. But it was the best possible spot to be shot if one had to be shot in the brain. This particular location of the brain was a non-vital area. Perhaps Bobby could be out of the hospital and back on the campaign trail in a week or two. After all, his pulse was strong and he had a good heart. He was not unconscious right after being shot and he said a few words and squeezed hard on the rosary beads that were placed in his hand.

After watching the ABC broadcast, I found color footage from inside the Ambassador Hotel. This CBS footage was recorded but I guess it wasn't broadcast live when the shooting occurred. But while watching this on a big TV and with all surround sound speakers going, I did FEEL what some of the attendees described: that immediate shift in mood. "Kennedy, Kennedy, Rah Rah Rah! Kennedy, Kennedy Sis Boom Bah!" Then everything SUDDENLY and disturbingly turned to horrific screams and it seemed like the entire ballroom was shaking and on the verge of exploding. People OUTSIDE the kitchen seemed to realize instantly that their world just caved in on itself. The TV cameras didn't pick up the sound of the shots. ABC thought they did. But it must have been balloons popping or some other noises. On the CBS tape, nothing resembling gunshots was heard. And reading descriptions of the shooting by the ABC newsman that was also shot, actually made me chuckle. He said he thought he was dying. He was bleeding a lot from his wound and what he said he distinctly remembers most vividly was looking up and seeing how the kitchen door would open up to reveal a hysterical woman standing in the doorway, screaming a blood-curdling scream, only to shut and then be opened up again by a whole different woman, screaming in the same disturbing way. Then the door would shut again, open again, new woman, same scream, over and over and over again. I pictured his description in Looney Tunes animation and found it amusing. But of course there is nothing funny about any of this. Our minds need to go someplace absurd because the weight of this tragedy really drives home the fact that no matter how happy you are one moment, everything can be turned upside down the next. And there is no way to predict it or to prepare yourself for it. And the course of history is irreversibly changed forever. Nixon, more Vietnam, Watergate, and on and on.

I'm only sorry we weren't able to watch it together, Toad. We could have talked about it for hours.

If you haven't watched it yet, take some time over the course of a few days and do so. Does it bring back the same kind of memories? Does it help you appreciate what it was like to be alive during those days? History books and documentaries may wind up being more accurate, with access to information that wasn't available at the time—but can they make you feel, in the words of Walter Cronkite's old program, that "You Are There"? What a magnificent time machine it is. TV  

Reliving the RFK assassination with CBS newsman Joseph Benti

Joseph Benti breaking the news of Robert F. Kennedy's shooting on June 5, 1968

If this was a perfect world, I would have published this in a more timely manner, perhaps in June or July. Of course, if this was a perfect world, I'd also be retired with something like a million dollars in the bank, so I wouldn't have to apologize for not publishing things in a more timely manner.

The topic is the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy in June, 1968 (hence the wish for timeliness), and through the good fortunes of my friend Marc Ryan and the assistance of Jennifer Cooper at the University of Iowa School of Journalism and Mass Communication*, I was able to get in touch with former CBS newsman Joseph Benti to chat with him about his involvement in television coverage of the RFK assassination. At the time, Joseph Benti was anchor of the CBS Morning News, as well as a correspondent covering the campaign for the 1968 Democratic presidential nomination. He was the first CBS man on the air with the shocking news of Kennedy's shooting, and if you go on YouTube and watch the videos of that coverage, you'll see that Benti is the lead anchor for that early coverage, even after he's joined in the studio by Walter Cronkite and Mike Wallace.

*I've talked with so many nice people from Iowa during the course of my TV writing, I may have to take back all the things Minnesotans typically say about Iowans. 

Having watched Benti on YouTube, and having been very impressed with the work he did, I felt compelled to contact him, to be able to talk to someone who had not only lived through it, but was in the rare position to know what it was actually like—not what we read after the fact, not what people remembered seeing on TV, but someone who was there. I suppose we're all born with that desire, somewhere inside us, to not just know but to understand.*

*This isn't the first time I've written fairly extensively about television's coverage of RFK's assassination; see here for a look at ABC's extraordinary breaking-news coverage, and here for a general look at the time.

I would turn eight in May of that year, and I was, thanks to my mother, already a political junkie, so so, as was the case with the earlier assassination of Martin Luther King, I knew something significant had happened. Still, I was only eight, and no matter how interested one might be, there's only so much of the adult word that an eight-year-old is going to be able to really get. I suppose that's part of why I'm interested in the news of that era (as well as classic TV in general); it's this urge to stretch my arm out, to actually touch and feel what was happening during the early years of my life, at a time when their comprehension was just out of my reach.

Even 50 years after the fact, Benti still remembered the evening well. The vote count in California had been very, very slow, and it wasn't until after midnight in California—3:00 a,m. in New York, where Benti was located for the morning news—that Kennedy made his way to the ballroom of the Ambassador Hotel to claim victory before his cheering supporters; by that time, CBS had already signed off. "The CBS Morning News [of which Benti was anchor at the time] started at 7:00, and there was this bar across the street from the studio where I was having a waker-upper. It was called The Slate, and a bunch of us were there, and I was nursing a drink, staying awake essentially, until it was time for the news. Then there was someone saying, "Bobby's been shot," and we ran back to the studio and said we had to get back on the air."

Once on the air, Benti kept viewers apprised of what was going on, along with CBS reporter Terry Drinkwater, who was at the Ambassador. "It wasn't like it is today with 24-hour news channels," he said. "We had to update the story, always refresh it." Being that it was the middle of the night, people could be tuning in at any time. "We were reading stories off the teletype as they came in." After about a half-hour, he was joined on-air by Walter Cronkite and Mike Wallace. "Wallace was trying to take over the story!" Benti remembered, remembering how Wallace at one point practically forced his way into the picture. (above) Cronkite—"we called him 'iron-cast bladder' Cronkite," Benti said with a laugh—was asked if he wanted to take over the main anchor duties, but he declined. saying, "Joe's doing just fine.".

The initial reports on Kennedy were mixed; some were even hopeful. Was this just a case of wishful thinking? "No," Benti said. "It wasn't until after the surgery, when  he didn't get any better, that things just kept getting worse. Then we knew." Kennedy died at the Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles, where he'd been taken after initially being stabilized at Central Receiving Hospital, an emergency hospital where police gunshot wounds were often treated, and that fact led to another recollection. "For years I'd remembered it as St. Vincent's Hospital," Benti said. "And then I was talking recently to a reporter and he mentioned it was Good Samaritan, and here I'd remembered it wrong all these years."

Benti talking with John Hart from the hospital.

At the time we talked, Kennedy's son, Robert, Jr., had voiced his belief that Sirhan Sirhan was not his father's killer. Was that possible, I asked Benti. "No," he replied. "It's all acoustics." He could understand why someone like RFK Jr. might feel there had been more shots fired, or there had been a second gunman; nevertheless, "There's an echo, and people think they hear more shots than there were." It was the same, Benti felt, as what had happened in Dealey Plaza in Dallas when JFK had been assassinated. In each case, he asserted, there was only one gunman, and there was no conspiracy.

I asked Benti what the atmosphere in the country was like, with this coming only two months after Martin Luther King's assassination; did it make him wonder, if things were spiraling out of control, coming apart at the seams? Actually," Benti replied, "we were really amazed there wasn't more unrest than there was," he said. The King assassination was the bombshell, the act that rocked everyone. After that, it was as if everyone was waiting for the other shoe to drop.  "What happened to King took the edge off Bobby."

There was something else I was curious about; several times during the coverage, both he and Cronkite alluded to the principle of "innocent until proven guilty," and that even though a suspect was in custody, and they would continue to report on any developments regarding that suspect, such stories should not be construed as evidence of or a suggestion that said suspect was guilty. That had been a problem when Lee Harvey Oswald was charged with the assassination of John F. Kennedy in 1963 (perhaps inciting Jack Ruby to murder Oswald; who knows?), and it seemed that this was the network's effort to prevent such problems this time around. It sounded, I thought, as if it had come from CBS's legal department. "No," Benti said, it was actually from CBS News president Richard Salant. "Salant was a lawyer, I think, before he came to CBS, and he was always around when there was a big story going on. I think, I'm pretty sure, that he was the one who wrote that and insisted we say it."

I was curious about other things. Over the years—perhaps starting even that night—there developed what I'd call a mythology that held as gospel the idea that Kennedy not been assassinated, he would have won the Democratic nomination and even the presidency. Things were different back then, though; in 1968, most national convention delegates were still chosen through a combination of state conventions, caucuses, and meetings controlled by party bosses; only fourteen states held primaries, of which California's winner-take-all on June 4 was by far the largest. (Humphrey didn't even enter the primaries, instead employing surrogate "favorite son" candidates in several states.) Even counting Kennedy's victory in California, CBS's delegate count gave Humphrey a significant lead; with 1,3,12 delegates needed for the nomination, Humphrey had 1,067½, compared to Kennedy's 622½, and McCarthy's 305. (The favorite sons had 492.) I asked Benti what the sense was back then among newsmen. Would Bobby have won the nomination had he lived? "No," he replied without hesitation. "Nixon and Hubert [Humphrey] were shoo-ins." At that point, the pollster Lou Harris had begun conducting vote profile analysis, in an effort to determine accurate data on voter activity. Bobby, Benti said, "generated excitement. He was a powerful force in our minds. But Humphrey had the party behind him."

We then went on to talk about other things, both past and current. For example, Benti talked about the 1965 Watts riots, which he had covered as a reporter and political editor at KCBS, Channel 2 in Los Angeles. "Pat Brown, the governor, was out of the country [in Athens, Greece*] when it started," Benti recalled. "I called the lieutenant governor's office, and I finally got through to his assistant, and I said 'look, this is a rebellion, not a riot.'" No wonder Kennedy's assassination seemed more like the other shoe dropping.

*Attending the World Congress of the American Hellenic Educational Progressive Association, an important ethnic constituency for Brown.

We talked a bit about television in general, and here I owe Joe Benti a great deal for helping me to follow up on that idea of television as an intimate medium, one that requires and forms a special connection with a viewer, and the influence it can thereby have. In talking about that influence, Benti referenced commercials of the late '60s and '70s, ones that incorporated males and females of different races and ethnicities.* Is it not true, he said, that these commercials helped shape the thoughts of viewers, to incline them to be more accepting, more comfortable, with an integrated landscape? "It was a commercial choice," he said, and a "commercial powerhouse" like a Coke commercial produces an image that "gives visibility" to ideas like integration. And if viewers see something on television long enough, they're likely to become more accepting of it.

*Although I don't believe it was mentioned by name, I'm thinking here of something like that "I'd like to teach the world to sing" commercial by Coke, but for that matter, it could have been any commercial that showed blacks and whites interacting as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

In talking about television news, Benti pointed out that television is "a personal medium," one that requires personalities that can make that personal connection with the viewer. He thought that there were some "young, excellent, intelligent" journalists out there, and he was particularly bullish on Brian Williams of MSNBC, whom he thought at the gravitas and ability to communicate the news clearly and effectively. "It's important that we have a strong Fourth Estate," he said, but he was very concerned that too many journalists had ceded editorial control over their work, that in major ways "the value system is corrupted" by pressures both external (political) and internal (budgets, ratings, profitability).

On that topic, he concluded with a story about Dan Rather that I found both illuminating and informative. He said that he always had the feeling Rather was "sizing me up," looking to move in on Benti's position. Rather called Benti an "invisible man," and by that he meant that Benti refused to make himself a part of the story. He related a story about the 1968 Democratic Convention, one in which both Rather and Mike Wallace had been almost confrontational in their aggressiveness in pursuing their stories, inserting themselves into the drama, as when Rather was roughed up by security forces, and police removed Wallace from the convention floor (above). "That was fine for them, that's the way they operated," he said. "I felt it was important to be in the background. I was not the story."

I thanked Joseph Benti; he'd been very generous, at his age and given that we were talking in the morning, spending time with someone who was not a professional reporter, sharing his memories of something that had happened long ago. "Have a happy life," he said, and I'll be doing my best to accomplish just that. TV  

This week in TV Guide: June 22, 1968

At an hour when I should be watching television, or reading a TV Guide, I'm instead working on the third, and (hopefully) penultimate, draft of The Electronic Mirror. It is for that reason and none other that I ask your indulgence in allowing me to dip into the archives once again for a look at this issue, which I first wrote about five years ago. I think it still holds up pretty well.

The nation's still reeling from the assassination of RFK a little over two weeks ago, and television is no exception.

Periodically throughout its history, the medium's majordomos have engaged in bouts of soul-searching, and as television increased in cultural importance, it displayed something of a schizophrenic attitude regarding its responsibility to society. In the aftermath of RFK, all eyes turned toward the effect that TV might have had on creating a climate of violence.*

*We're not here to debate Sirhan Sirhan's guilt, but it does bear saying that if he was guilty, then his motivation was not violence on TV, but a hatred of RFK for his support of Israel. The rest of this discussion would seem, to me at least, to be a moot point: Sirhan would have committed the deed even if the most violent thing on TV was a fluffy white kitten.

The Doan Report asks the question: "Had television's violence-prone "action-adventure" drama contributed substantially to today's climate of solution-by-murder?" People from all walks debate the issue, from historian (and Kennedy camp follower) Arthur Schlessinger to playwright Arthur Miller to the President of the United States himself, who asked "whether 'the seeds of violence' had been nurtured by TV, movies and news media." The Louisville Times refers to "America the Brutal," and points the finger at TV as "a root" of the evil, using a picture of Richard Boone as Paladin in Have Gun—Will Travel as evidence.*

*I know it's hard to believe, considering what one sees on TV nowadays, but at one time HGWT was considered one of the most violent programs on television.

New York Representative John Murphy condemns the networks, saying that "[n]ight after night one program after the other shows violence in great detail and in living color." Miller, the playwright, says that the country was now at the stage where "any half-educated man in a good suit can make his fortune by concocting a television show whose brutality is photographed in sufficiently monstrous detail."

It's not just politicians and pundits raising cain, though, as a perusal of the Letters to the Editor section will show. Casey Willis of Tucson complains that although there have been hundreds of gun killings in the U.S., "many of the most popular shows on TV have been based on firearms and violence," and suggests that TV "should search its own soul." Mary Hendrickson of Hudson, NY adds that "I can censor my own children's programs, but what of the children whose parents don't know or care what is pounded into their impressionable little heads?" TV has done a good job covering the recent tragedies; now, "do something to prevent them." And P. Corcoran of the Bronx says that "TV is one of the worst offenders in this crime" of violence flooding the country, citing Mission: Impossible as one of the shows "warping our youngsters."*

*See my comments on HGWT above.

One of the ways the networks have responded to this outcry of public opinion has been to pull its series' most violent episodes off the air—at least for the short term,as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. NBC released a statement assuring the public that they "have established policies and procedures to guard against the depiction of violence fore its own sake," and CBS president Frank Stanton promised that the network "would seek to 'de-emphasize' violence" on their programs.

And so the landscape changes, for a time, and kinder, gentler programming is now the fashion. But for how long? I suppose there's any number of studies that could isolate when the trend toward more violent fare resumed. No matter how noble the intent might be, ultimately ratings (and the concurrent advertising dollars) rule, and the viewers cast the deciding votes. The level of violence on television today is astounding; I can't imagine what the people, who were so aghast at '60s violence, would think of it. One could argue that, having grown up in a so-called culture of violence, people are more inured to it, and less likely to be influenced by it. And yet, things seldom change much: every time there's a school shooting or bombing or other act of violence, the cry arises once again. Lately, it's been over the violence in video games.

For a long time, television has attempted to have it both ways, downplaying the influence its programs have on viewers' behavior while at the same time accepting ads designed to influence viewers' behavior. That's always seemed a bit disingenuous to me. Of course the content of television programming affects viewers. Likewise, though, there can't be much doubt that the audience is receptive and willing. It's a chicken-and-egg situation: does the problem lie with the programming, or the people watching it?

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One testimony to the effect of the assassination on television is the slew of shows bearing the legend, "Postponed from an earlier date," the heaviest concentration of which appear on Saturday. Although network coverage of the assassination and aftermath were nowhere near the 1963 levels, all three networks preempted virtually all of their Saturday programming for Kennedy's funeral and burial. The intent was to return to regular programming at the start of prime time, but the funeral train was four-and-a-half hours late, and the entire slate wound up being wiped out. The Prisoner, Hogan's Heroes, The Dating Game, Petticoat Junction, an ABC profile of land speed-record holder Craig Breedlove—all are victims of the accordion effect of postponements and rescheduling.

The Sunday chat shows reflect the political dynamic as well: Face the Nation features a showdown between Connecticut Senator Thomas Dodd (father of Chris) and NRA president Harold Glassen over the burning issue of gun control. Presidential candidates Eugene McCarthy (Issues and Answers) and Nelson Rockefeller (Meet the Press) round out the day's guests, and I'm sure each of them touched on guns as well.

***

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..

Ed Sullivan: On this first in a series of reruns, CBS renames its Broadway theater in honor of Ed.  Guests: New York City mayor John Lindsay, Pearl Bailey, Alan King, Met baritone Robert Merrill, actress-dancer Gwen Verdon, comedians Wayne and Schuster, the Argentine singing group Los Nimos Cantores de Murialdo, and the Emerald Society pipe bands of New York's police and fire departments.

Hollywood Palace: Guest host Sid Caesar dominates this hour of comedy and music. Guests: Marlo Thomas, singers Sergio Franchi and Fran Jeffries, and the rocking Checkmates, Ltd.

It's rerun season, and interestingly enough, this particular show of Ed's has already appeared in our TV Guide review, back in December of 1967. That time, I went with the Palace, partly because of John Lindsay's grandstanding appearance. As I mentioned, CBS could just as well have had William Paley make the presentation instead of a hack politician. This time, however, the decision goes the other way—no matter how good Sid Caesar might be, Marlo Thomas and the Checkmates are not going to edge out Pearl Bailey, Alan Kind and Robert Merrill. Verdict:  Sullivan, the second time around.


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The summer months mean not only reruns, but summer replacement series. For those of you not familiar with that concept, back in the day many programs, particularly variety shows, took the summer off and were replaced with short-run series, also often variety shows. So for example, on CBS the Smothers Brothers' summer replacement is the Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour, which does well enough in the ratings to merit a return engagement the following January, where it would remain until January 1972. Red Skelton's off as well, replaced by Showtime, a variety show with a different host each week; this week, it's country singer Eddy Arnold, who also hosts NBC's Kraft Music Hall on NBC the next night.

Speaking of NBC, Dean Martin never worked summers, and the fill-in was invariably called Dean Martin Presents... For the summer of '68 he presents the Golddiggers, with Frank Sinatra, Jr. and Joey Heatherton. Jerry Lewis' replacement is Showcase '68, with Lloyd Thaxton.

Another trend in summer replacements for all three networks is the British import, though few of them are as radical a change as Jackie Gleason's fill-in—the mind-bending British series The Prisoner. ABC pops in another British adventure series, Man in a Suitcase, in place of its Disney-wannabee Off to See the Wizard. And Laugh-In's spot is taken by yet another spy/adventure series, The Champions. All three are products of Lew Grade's ITC Entertainment, a mainstay of 60s TV.

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Here's a personal conundrum: Friday night features the first football game of the season, the late and unlamented Coaches' All-America Game, played in Atlanta. It's actually the last game of the 1967 college season, since both teams are staffed by seniors about to join NFL training camps.* Recognizable names? Larry Csonka, who knocked 'em dead at Miami, and Ron Yary, an all-timer for Minnesota.

*This game, like the much-loved College All-Star Game that pitted college stars against the defending NFL champions, was a victim of increased concerns over injuries, and pro teams' desires to get their players in camp earlier. It lasted, believe it or not, until 1976.

Ordinarily I would have been glued to the tube for this game (at that age, 8, I would watch anything that featured a scoreboard), but this year was different, for opposite ABC's coverage of the game was CBS' Friday night movie, A Night to Remember. Longtime readers know that the story of the Titanic has been one of my lifelong passions, and so there's no question that this movie, a brilliant adaptation of Walter Lord's bestseller and the definitive Titanic movie, captured the evening in my book. But then again, this kind of scheduling is why the DVR was invented.

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On the cover this week is Toni Helfer, who along with her husband Ralph train animals for Ivar Tors' series Daktari. But we're going to wrap up this week's review with a look at another feature from the shiny section of the magazine. It's a profile of William Shatner, who's hit it big with Star Trek, but he's still not happy. He's a classically trained actor, a veteran of Shakespearean productions and high-class TV dramas, but as he said, "A plaque on the wall doesn't by baby food." The man who wowed audiences as Henry V when he was 22 has found that success doesn't necessarily translate to happiness, nor does flying around the universe lead to professional satisfaction. He's struggling in other ways as well. His father died a year ago, he's now separated from his wife of 10 years, and he sees his life as "an empty pit." He hungers for friends, but finds only fans.

He leaves us with a classic Shatner moment though, one that you can almost hear as you read it on the page. Addressing the National Conference of Christians and Jews, he tells the audience that "I'm a Jew, but I do not believe in your God...I do know we are all afraid of dying...we are all afraid of loneliness. Those are universal truths. Are you scared? I'm scared...I love you...I need you."

The words of a transformed man, don't you think? TV  

Around the dial

Hey, Hondo's back! Actually, it's Hal at The Horn Section who's back, and this week he's telling us about the November, 1967 episode "Hondo and the Judas," and some very sloppy work on the show's storyline continuity. Man, I just hate it when things like that happen - I pick, pick, pick on it. Just ask my wife.

At Comfort TV, David has a really, really good piece on how television is no longer "something to talk about." I recommend you read the whole thing, because this is an article that speaks to me in so many ways, particularly the idea of television as a shared experience. As David says, "Such connections, such common threads, are beneficial for a culture." The fact that we no longer have them does say something, doesn't it?

I mentioned last week that we're at the 50th anniversary of the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy. In a week or two I'll have more to write on that, but in the meantime, Andrew of The Lucky Strike Papers writes about the busboy who comforted RFK in some of his last moments of consciousness.

I kid you not - just before typing this, I was reading an article discussing how Formula 1 is considering reducing the length of its races to attract more viewers. What does this have to do with television? Well, at Garroway at Large Jodie writes about an early review of Today by H. L. Phillips that includes the thought that no television show should run as long as two hours. Have we always had short attention spans?

Did you know that Rocky & Bullwinkle had been revived? If I did know that, I'd forgotten all about it - good thing Martin Grams is around to remind us. Here's his review of the Amazon-based series, which I think I may have to check out after I'm done here.

Finally, a shout-out to Television Obscurities, which celebrated its 15th anniversary over last weekend. That's more than twice as long as this blog has been around, all the while putting out informative articles on obscure programs, as well as a titanic year-long look at a single season of TV Guide. Let's hope there are many more years to come! TV