This week in TV Guide: June 26, 1953

What has TV done to men? Naturally, I'm eager to find the answer to this question; it's likely to be far less expensive than going through analysis. However, while this one-page article is written tongue-in-cheek, I believe it makes some serious points about modern society and the impact perception has on reality.

"Whatever happened to men?" our unidentified author asks. "You know, those strong, dominant, intelligent creatures who built empires, struggled for democracy, and delved into nature's secrets. Where did they go? What cataclysm left us with the stupid, bumbling nincompoops who pass as males today?" The answer, of course, is television.  

Yes, thanks to our favorite medium, and heroes such as Robert Beanblossom (Bob Cummings on My Hero), Ozzie Nelson (Ozzie and Harriet), and Chester A. Riley (William Bendix on The Life of Riley), the American woman "thinks of her man, and any other man, as a Prime Idiot. She also sees how easily Lucy outsmarts Ricky, how capably Sapphire beats up the Kingfish [Amos 'n' Andy], and how smoothly Margie manages her father [My Little Margie]." As a result, we get the general idea that men are a bunch of losers, worthy of little more than scorn and ridicule.

There are reasons for this, not all of which are necessarily whimsical: programs are written chiefly for a female audience, and most of the sponsors' products are geared toward women: soap, appliances, food, etc. Therefore, styling men in this fashion "pleases the female, causing her to dash to the nearest store to buy whatever the sponsor advertises." Men have little say in the matter, given that of the top 25 shows in the ratings, men comprise the majority of viewership for only two: the Wednesday and Friday night fights. "So with women comprising the bulk of the audience, and women liking shows that portray stupid men, it looks as if men—who are brilliant, kind and charming*—will continue to be maligned on television." Ergo, any change is unlikely, given that "our children are watching too, and by the time they grow up it will be a generally accepted fact that women are the dominant sex. That means today's little girls are tomorrow's Amazons. Today's little boys are tomorrow's mice."

*I would amend that to read, "can be brilliant, kind and charming," but the point stands.

This is, I think, a future that has largely come to pass. Just look at modern society, and how much of it has been feminized and emotionalized: politics, religion, education, literature and the arts, the corporate world; why should television be any different? The best example of this is probably the kind of programming one sees on outlets such as the Hallmark Channel. Whereas Hallmark used to present classic stories of strong-willed, heroic men, today we're confronted by sensitive, stubble-faced blokes with muscles enough to crush steel, but so gentle they wouldn't disturb the petals of a flower. Is that really the kind of masculinity we need in this day and age? 

One hears a great deal today about "toxic masculinity," the concept of which I firmly reject as being a thing. Still, to the extent that it exists at all, it's hard to deny that its roots lie in a rejection of the male castration that has taken place in popular culture. This is not an argument for enforcing outdated concepts of men and women; this week's article certainly carries a tone of lighthearted chauvinism. But history and experience have taught us that truth is often buried within the folds of humor, and this is no exception. This is the world we live in today, and any attempt to overcompensate for this is bound to wind up in disaster. Until we find a happy medium—a natural medium, I would say—we're bound to reap the harvest we have sown.

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Well, that was a bit intense for openers, wasn't it? Let's try something a little less stressful—like mysteries. Chicago Daily News columnist Jack Mabley, who performs the honors as TV critic for this Chicagoland edition of TV Guide, has seen three TV mystery shows over the past six months. The first was the long-running series Danger, and this episode (which we know aired on April 28, thanks to the always-reliable Wikipedia) featured singer Johnny Desmond making his TV acting debut. The story and the acting were both a bit over the top, Mabley thought, "but maybe that's the way they want it in New York to impress us yokels." 

The second show, which is unnamed, "concerned a pretty young lady who opened the front door to find a stranger who said he was her husband. She insisted he wasn't her husband, and he insisted he was. He even produced some old family friends who said he was. She put in a nervous half hour, because she had paid to have her husband murdered. She didn't admit it until just before the final commercial. The pretender, of course, was a policeman."

The third show was an episode of The Web from a couple of weeks ago. It "concerned a pretty young lady who opened the front door to find a stranger who said he was her brother. She insisted he wasn't her brother, and he insisted he was. He even produced some old family friends who said he was. She put in a nervous half hour, because she had paid to have her brother murdered. She didn't admit it until just before the final commercial. The pretender, of course, was a policeman."

Now, if you think the last two stories were just a bit, perhaps, derivative, you couldn't be more wrong. After all, one of them features a wife wanting to murder her husband, and takes place in London. In the second, it's a sister wanting to murder her brother, and takes place in San Francisco. Not only that, but the wife is a brunette, while the sister is a blonde. See the difference? I thought you would.

On a more serious note, Mabley suggests that, over a period of perhaps six months, one might see 60 mysteries on television, with perhaps seven or eight different storylines, and that sounds about right to me. "Maybe I'm spoiled by Mickey Spillane," Mabley concludes, but of the hundreds of mysteries he's watched, "I haven't wholly enjoyed one since seeing 'Lucky Night' put on by Bill Eddy's WBKB crew early in 1948." Notwithstanding the local angle, that's a pretty sad return on one's investment of time. It probably isn't much different from any other television genre, unfortunately.

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Speaking of which, what exactly is on TV this week? Is it all mysteries and male-bashing, or can we look forward to something completely different?

Back in 1953, the start of the TV Guide week was Friday, and the home of the Chicago Cubs was WGN. (Ah, for the days of the Superstation. Why couldn't I have been retired back then?) Today, the Cubbies take on the New York Giants; coverage begins at 12:45 p.m. CT, with Baseball with the Girls, followed by the pre-game at 1:00, and the game at 1:30. That night, on The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet (7:00 p.m., ABC), we get right to the heart of the matter, with one of Ozzie's neighbors telling him that "women prefer unpredictable men." I suppose that might be true, but you can see what kind of hilarity will result from this, can't you?

On Saturday, it's one of those lovely mysteries, albeit one that originally premiered in the theaters: The Chinese Cat (Noon, WGN), starring Sidney Toler as the great Charlie Chan, who has four hours to solve a case that's stumped the police for six months. Think he can do it? Considering Toler still has nine more movies in the series, my money's on the Chan man. In primetime, it's Bob Cummings as the aforementioned Bob Beanblossom, who "tries to serve eviction papers but turns kitten when he has orders to be "The Tiger" on My Hero (7:00 p.m., NBC). 

Little-known fact: before Hallmark Hall of Fame turned into a series of acclaimed specials, it was a weekly series that aired on Sunday afternoons, and had as its host and occasional star the noted actress (and daughter of Winston), Sarah Churchill. This week, she stars in "My Own True Darlin'" (4:00 p.m., NBC), an original musical comedy for television, based on the real-life story of the "Mercer Girls," women who moved from the East to Seattle to become wives. Yes, it's the basis for the series Here Come the Brides. Later, on Ed Sullivan's Toast of the Town (7:00 p.m., CBS), guest host Tony Martin welcomes opera star Roberta Peters, the comedy Wiere Brothers, the dance team of Elsa and Waldo, harmonica player Richard Hayman, and comedian Joey Foreman. Had there been a Palace, I think it would have stood a good chance this week.

On Monday, Voice of Firestone (7:30 p.m., NBC) tunes up for the 4th of July next week with a salute to Independence Day, starring Metropolitan Opera tenor Eugene Conley, singing a medley of patriotic songs. On Summer Theater (9:00 p.m., CBS), tonight's drama is "Greed," with Hurd Hatfield as a young man whose desire for his grandfather's fortune leads to a murder attempt with either riches or suicide in the offing. There's no word as to whether or not he's confronted by a man at the door insisting he's his grandfather, and is even able to produce some old family friends who say he is. The midnight movie on WBKB, Beyond Tomorrow (1940), is now considered a seasonal movie, if not quite a Christmas tradition; it's the story of three old men who invite a young couple to their mansion for Christmas dinner. Watching it in June is kind of like popping It's a Wonderful Life in the DVD to celebrate Labor Day.

Tuesday's episode of This Is Your Life (8:30 p.m., NBC) is, presumably, a rerun since the honoree is Roy Rogers, and Ralph Edwards famously kept those identities a secret in the days of live television. Meanwhile, on Danger (9:00 p.m., CBS), we run into a familiar theme: in "Surface Tension," "an oil prospector begins to imagine that his best friend and his wife are falling in love, so he plots to murder the friend." See, there is some variety in these shows—unless, that is, a man shows up at his front door who says he's his best friend, and. . . oh, never mind.

Here's something I've not encountered before: on Wednesday afternoon, WGN's 4:00 p.m. movie (title yet to be determined) is a "full length feature cut down to accommodate the ending time of the ball game.") That would be the Chicago White Sox game against the St. Louis Browns (soon to be the Baltimore Orioles), which begins at 1:30 p.m. The movie is scheduled to run until 4:45 p.m., which means it could be cut to, say, even 30 minutes. Can you imagine tuning in to Ben Hur and finding out you're getting the Reader's Digest Condensed version instead? In fact, the game, won by the Sox 13-4, runs 2:38; assuming it started at 1:35 (the National Anthem, etc.), it would have ended at 4:13 p.m., and if you figure, oh, five minutes to sign off, that means we get 27 minutes for the movie. Otherwise we run into Beany and Cecil, which probably had higher ratings.

Dinah Shore signs off for the season at 6:30 p.m. on Friday (NBC), and when she and the cast come to the studio, "they find it empty, and so take on the duties of the stage hands and erect the scenery themselves." (Probably violating some kind of union regulation, but whatever.) In this week's cover story, writer, producer, and director Alan Handley says Dinah is one of the best stars to work with in the business. "When you tell a star that on the next show she is to slide down a fireman's pole and her reply is, 'Can I wear slacks or do I have to do it in a dress?' then you know you're working with a real star."  She has, Handley says, a "rare combination of talent, beauty, brains and sheer graciousness." No matter what the task, there are never any complaints, never a sign of ego. I'll admit that while I haven't read much in-depth about Dinah Shore, this seems to jibe with what I do know; I've never heard anyone speak ill of her. Says Handley, "Her warmth and sincerity don't go on and off with the stage make-up."

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Rumor abound that color television might be available to the public by Christmas of this year. Could it be? The RCAS all-electronic compatible system, one of three competitors competing for approval from the FCC (the other two being CBS's mechanical disc system and the Lawrence tube, developed by Drs. Ernest Lawrence and Luis Alvarez.) In the case of the RCA system, "all-electronic" means that the transmission is handled by image orthicon tubes, as is the case with black-and-white transmission, while "compatible" refers to the ability of the color image to be received by standard sets in black-and-white. That said, what you can see here is an actual picture taken "directly from the face of a television set tube during a demonstration of the RCA system," next to the same exact picture in black-and-white. (The model is the charming Marie McNamara.) 

As you can see, the quality of the color picture is excellent, repeated tests have been successful, equipment is in experimental use, and some sets have already been manufactured. So what's holding things up? In a word, politics.

So far, the FCC has approved only the CBS system, which is not compatible; in other words, "you could receive these color telecasts in black-and-white only if you purchased adapters and converters." Several Congressional leaders, backed by the mighty influence of the RCA corporation, are pressing for FCC approval of the RCA system, but were that to happen, you'd require two sets, one in each format, to receive all the color programs available, since the systems are not compatible with each other. The new sets are likely to be quite expensive, at least until the tubes can be mass-produced. And Dr. Allen DuMont believes that a three-dimensional system should take precedence over color. 

Before we can look forward to color broadcasts in our homes, at least three things have to happen. First, the FCC has to make a final decision on which system is to be used. (spoiler alert: RCA wins.) Second, the equipment for transmitting color telecasts has to be standardized. And third, color sets will need to be put on a mass-production basis to lower costs. 

In other words, there ain't gonna be a color TV under the tree this Christmas.

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A quick take on some coming attractions: Oscar-winner Broderick Crawford is talking about a turn on TV, in a series called Manhunt. I wonder if that doesn't wind up being Highway Patrol, which premieres in 1956 and has a successful four-season run in syndication. 

NBC is looking at big changes in its daytime lineup; Dave Garroway's Today show, currently seen only in the East and Midwest, will be available in California this fall. The show will be kinescoped from the live feed, and then replayed at 7:00 a.m. Pacific time. Also, the network plans a mid-morning hour-long show called Home, hosted by Arlene Francis, which will feature "drama, music, how-to segments and news, all geared to the housewife audience." It's all part of Pat Weaver's plan for the complete broadcast day; the third member of the triumvirate, Tonight, will be along next September. 

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Television hasn't quite relegated network radio to the sidelines (although it's doing its best), and we're reminded of that by an ad for WMAQ radio—I like that idea of radio advertising in TV Guide—which mentions that Bob Hope's daily radio program can now be heard a hour earlier, at 9:30 a.m. Monday through Friday. It's a show "designed especially for women" (so it isn't just television!), with "chatter, guest stars, human interest stories, 'a lady of the week' feature, Jell-O recipes and the inevitable gags and cracks. Remember gals, it's WMAQ for daytime Hope at 9:30 a.m. every weekday." Who says everything is Hopeless? TV  

Around the dial

Cult TV Lounge takes a relatively short trip back to the 1990s (I still have a hard time realizing that the '90s are 30 years ago) with the Japanese anime OVA Cyber City Oedo 808, directed by the great Yoshiaki Kawajiri, with obvious nods to the William Gibson and Philip K. Dick. If you're a fan, it wouldn't hurt to check it out.

Also worth checking out is the latest episode of The Guardians, brought to us by John at Cult TV Blog. In part five, we pick up the dystopic story in progress following an assassination, with bodies and orgies left and right. And who, or what, is Quarmby anyway? Is this the direction we're headed in? Or are we already there?

One of my fond memories of childhood is watching wrestling on TV with my grandfather, with the result that I always had a soft spot for the sport, even when it seems like it's bordering on depravity. Paul has similar memories, and at Drunk TV he revisits them with the 2007 documentary The Triumph and Tragedy of World Class Championship Wrestling, a searching look at the WCCW's ups and downs.

At Comfort TV, David's perusal through prime time in the 1970s continues with Wednesday, 1974. What was it like? How about Get Christie Love!, Cannon, Little House on the Prairie, and Petrocelli? I'm betting most of you remember most of these, but there are bound to be some that you haven't thought of for awhile, if ever.

At Eyes of a Generation, Bobby gives us a unique look at "the battle for television," circa 1945. Not only do you get some interesting graphics on early TV equipment, you get insight into the rivalry between RCA and CBS over their "different techincal approaches to television." They were even talking about color TV in 1945; find out more about what might have been.

It's been 25 years (1) since Garry Berman's first book, Best of the Britcoms, and this week he takes a look back some of the glorious British panel shows that display such typically British "wit, speed, and spontaneity." Be sure to take some time to watch the clips that Garry has included, among which a show called 8 Out Of 10 Cats, which you can't miss.

In the mood for some TV-movies? Well, then, head on over to Reelweegiemidget, where Gill (with some help from Darlin Husband) shares some of the teleflicks they watched over this summer. Some you'll recognize, some you won't, and some you'll want to check out. And after all, isn't that what a good reviewer is for?

I don't have to tell you that it's been a rough time for some of our heroes of the past, which makes me even more glad to share Terence's latest at A Shroud of Thoughts, which is not an obituary! It's a look back at his memories of Sunday night television while he was growing up. He and I are of roughly the same era, and I can certainly identify with those memories.

At Television's New Frontier: The 1960s, we're in 1962, and the beginning of McHale's Navy, the drama that became a comedy. The show owes its roots to Car 54, Where Are You? and The Phil Silvers Show, but falls short of them in several ways. Still, a lot of you have fond memories of the show, and you'll want to see the many faces that appeared on your TV during that season.

As Travalanche notes, many of us associate Sally Struthers with a single, and singular, role: that of Gloria on All in the Family. There's been a lot more to her career than that, though, and it's good to be reminded that she's done movies, live theater, voice-overs, and guest spots on many shows, both before and after marrying the Meathead.

Roger has an interesting observation at the outset of his review of The Avengers episode "Fog" at The View from the Junkyard: it's all right to acknowledge that "the things we love don't have to be perfect." And that's true; you'll notice that when I really pick a show apart because of its implausibilities, it's not just the nits: it's likely that I'm not being entertained.

xx TV  

Around the dial

We meet a new writer this week at bare•bones e-zine, as Jack introduces us to the first of two Calvin Clements scripts in the Hitchcock Project: season seven's "Beta Delta Gamma," a creepy episode that I remember well from years past, with Burt Brickerhoff, Joel Crothers, and Duke Howard.

At Cult TV Blog, John reviews The XYZ Man, a 1976-77 British series with an intriguing, if totally discredited premise, that of a man genetically predisposed to crime. Despite the bad reputation the series has had from critics, it's worth checking out if for nothing more than its depiction of the Seventies, and as you know, we're big here on how television accurately presents a period in time.

We've linked to Bobby Ellerbee's fantastic site Eyes of a Generation many times in the past, but never before has Bobby been part of another story we're linking to—until now. Check out Garroway at Large, where Jodie tells us how some of Bobby's prized camera collection is now part of Jodie's prized camera collection!

At Inner Toob, it's a tribute to Jerry Springer, now part of Inner Toob's "Television Crossover Hall of Fame" for the many times he played different versions of himself on other television shows. I've mentioned before that Springer was a character in the first book I ever wrote (but didn't publish; maybe someday), so I'm always up for scenarios like this.

Martin Grams reviews a quartet of books this week, biographies of four varied stars whom you'll surely recognize from their work on television, in the movies, or both: actors Ray Danton, Robert Horton, and Herbert Marshall; and film director Arthur Penn. Each of them has a fascinating life story to tell, and any of these books would be valuable adds to your library.

Speaking of books, at Pop Matters, Peter Thomas Webb has a review of a book on a very interesting topic: Eleanor Patterson’s Bootlegging the Airwaves, a history of radio and television as seen through the eyes of bootlegging communities from the pre-digital era. Regardless of your thoughts on copyright law, groups like these are responsible for keeping alive much of media history.

Terence pays tribute to comedian Richard Lewis at A Shroud of Thoughts. Lewis, who died last week, aged 76, was a much-loved mainstay of the Carson-Letterman shows, as well as co-star of the sitcom Anything But Love and regular on Curb Your Enthusiasm. But, as Terence points out, that barely scratches the surface of his six-decade career.

I usually cover the Avengers reviews at The View from the Junkyard, so I thought I'd remind you that you also get regular summaries of episodes from Land of the Lost, the Seventies Saturday morning series whose theme will stay with you for days once you start to think of it. This week, Mike looks at the episode "A Nice Day," which is what I hope you're having this Friday. TV  

Around the dial

No look at the history of television would be complete without touching on professional wrestling, a "sport" which seems to have been tailor-made for the confines of the television screen. At Comfort TV, David asks (and answers) the question, can professional wrestling be Comfort TV, complete with a few examples.

At Cult TV Blog, John writes about a series that even he hadn't heard of before, Inside Victor Lewis-Smith, a 1993 comedy series with a concept so bizarre that I'm not even going to try and explain it; read what John has to say about it or, better yet, check out one of the episodes on YouTube.

Update from Garroway at Large: Jodie's still around, and she has     , including a new YouTube Garroway at Large from 1951, and a second title to come from Tyger River Books, publisher of Peace. (And I hope you've gotten your copy; if not, why not?)

At Eyes of a Generation Bobby has a couple of very cool visual posts: one includes the two (apparently) remaining camera cards from Jack Paar's Tonight Show (the "More to Come" cards that we remember from Carson's time), and the second is on how television graphics came to be. Both well worth your time.

Television Obscurities reports the discovery of what is now the earliest surviving entertainment program on color videotape, the October 1958 premiere of Kraft Music Hall, starring Milton Berle. It's going to be shown next week at the UCLA Film & Television Library, for anyone who can make it. Great news for TV preservationists!

James Dean doesn't have a lot to do with classic TV, although he did do some live television, but Travalanche has a look at Dean—the man forever frozen at age 24—that is too interesting to pass up.

At The Lucky Strike Papers, Andrew uses a recent interview with Ringo Starr in the AARP magazine (ouch for all of us!) as a jumping-off point to look at the early years of the Beatles, including their famous Sullivan appearance, and reminds us of Starr's role in the group's success. 

The View from the Junkyard returns to the animated Star Trek with this look at the second-season episode that brings the animated series to a worthy conclusion, "The Counter-Clock Incident." Would we do it the same way if we had it to do all over again? Find out what the answer is. TV  

This week in TV Guide: February 5, 1966

I remember the first time I saw a demonstration of High-Definition television. It was in the KSTP booth at the Minnesota State Fair, and the presenter told us this was the future of television. It was impressive, all right; the clarity of the picture was astounding, and that was just while it was showing images of trees and plants. When it switched over to something one might actually watch—like football—it was even more impressive. A few years later, we got our first HD television, which remains our living room TV to this day; the first program we saw was a match from the 2010 World Cup, and the fact that we could see the footprints left on the grass by the players was truly amazing.

I bring all this up not to sing the praises of HDTV, which has absolutely nothing to do with this week's issue, but as an intro to the wonder of television technology, circa 1966: color TV. Now, there had been color broadcasts on TV since the 1950s, but it wouldn't be until the fall of 1966 that the three networks were broadcasting exclusively in color for prime time, and it wasn't until 1972 that more than 50 percent of American homes had a color set. So in February 1966, "Color TV" is still something pretty sexy, not to be taken for granted. You can see this in the way color programming is featured in advertising. Take KTVU, the independent station in San Francisco-Oakland, where Tuesday nights are a "Cavalcade of Color."

Notice the programs they're broadcasting in color—they involve travel to exotic lands with colorful scenes; think about the kind of pictures you saw in National Geographic. Perfect shows to take advantage of the color palette. And look at the way "Color" is emphasized in the ad; even when limited to black and gray, it still manages to convey the sense of multicolored images. It makes you want to go out there and get a color set if you don't already have one; and if you have to choose between a show broadcast in color and one being shown in black-and-white, is there any doubt which one you're going to choose? It's precisely the sensation the ad is designed to produce. 

KTVU isn't the only station emphasizing color programming, of course. San Francisco's KGO and KOVR in Sacramento both highlight movies that were shot in color, and KCRA (also in Sacramento) even makes it part of their logo. There's something about these ads that identify their stations with progress, modernity, technology, broadcasting shows that jump right out—things that might put them a step ahead of the competition. And after all, we all want to stick with a winner, right? 

In February, 1966, according to Broadcasting magazine, about 70 percent of the combined prime time programming from the three networks was in color (almost all of NBC's schedule was in color, while CBS and ABC were at roughly 50 percent). By the fall of '66, all three networks will be broadcasting their primetime shows 100 percent in color. And TV Guide, which had always indicated which shows were being broadcast in color, changes that policy in 1971 or so; since color programs are now the rule, rather than the exception, they only show when a program is in black-and-white.

All these changes were extremely exciting; I remember what it was like when we visited friends with a color set, and it was even more exciting when we got a color set of our own in the 1970s. Younger people won't understand this; for them, color is the way it's always been, so much so that the black-and-white label almost carries a stigma with it. I'm sure that many of them don't even recall the pre-HD days, probably can't imagine that there was a time when the picture didn't fill up the entire screen.

Is there any kind of technology today that can provide the kind of thrill we got with the color experience, or the amazement we felt the first time we saw a show in high-def? I suppose nowadays it's like getting the latest iPhone, but I feel sorry in a ay for people who don't know what it was like having your socks knocked off by something like color television. It may seem simple today; it was anything but simple, back then. 

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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: comedian Alan King; singer Rosemary Clooney, rock 'in' rollers Simon and Garfunkel, dancer Peter Gennaro and the rock 'n' rolling Animals.

Palace: Host Vincent "Ben Casey" Edwards presents an all-female guest lineup: actress Bette Davis, giving a reading; singer Liza Minnelli; comedienne Joan Rivers; dancer Liliane Montevecchi; the acrobatic Rogge Sisters; performing elephants Bertha and Tina; and Miss Elizabeth, trapeze artist.

As you know, these reviews are purely subjective on my part; your mileage may vary. So when I downgrade Ed's lineup because I don't like Simon and Garfunkel, that's just my opinion. And because I do like the Animals, I can say that the two offset each other. On the other hand, Ed has Rosemary Clooney and Alan King. I'm not a big fan of either Vince Edwards or Joan Rivers, and I don't think Bette Davis and Liza are quite enough to make up for it, not even with a pair of performing elephants thrown into the mix. This week, Sullivan takes the crown.  

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

So, is Lost in Space a children's program or not? Well, according to Cleveland Amory, that depends. Like most shows designed primarily for children, it seems to be written by them as well. It was created by Irwin Allen, "whom you may forget—if not forgive —for having given us Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea." (Hey, I like that show!) And it has what Cleve calls "an irritating backyard quality, complete with boy-next-planet, girl-next-star, etc." that extends to the casting, with the typical parents, the family friend, one blonde daughter, one brunette daughter, and a freckle-faced boy. It's all straight out of Central Casting.

But don't let this discourage you from watching Lost in Space, for it has two qualities which define it as something out of the ordinary. The first is the robot, without which there would be no show. "He knows his lines. He’s appealing to both boys and girls, and he’s even neat and well-mannered enough for the old folks to stand him." And whenever something happens, no matter what, he's the one the Robinsons turn to, that "when the chips are down, he’ll do his duty, even if it means a hopeless charge against the alien space ship’s 'force field.' Like the brave TV executives upstairs, his not to reason why, his but to program and die."

Added to that is perhaps the best villain television has to offer, Dr. Zachary Smith (Jonathan Harris). "He is responsible almost every week for lousing up outer space with his innate rottenness, and you’ve got to love him for it." As a counterpoint to the too-perfect Robinsons, he gives the show the spark and dimension it needs. And while Robinson and West would probably just as soon pitch him into space and lose him, the women and children always seem to get in the way; "Why they continue, week after week, to trust Dr. Smith beats us." But let's hope they always do, because without him, Lost in Space might be lost in the ratings.

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Let's see what the week has to offer. There's always something, even if it is in black-and-white.

The worlds of sports and entertainment collide yet again this weekend, with coverage of the fourth and fifth rounds of the Bob Hope Desert Classic (Saturday, 1:00 p.m.; Sunday, 12:30 p.m., NBC). The five-day, 90-hole tournament (longest on the pro circuit) delivers some of the biggest names on the pro golf tour: defending champion Billy Casper, Arnold Palmer, Tony Lema, Julius Boros, Gene Littler, Doug Sanders and Tommy Aaron. Celebrities are plentiful as well, with Kirk Douglas, Joe DiMaggio, James Garner, Phil Harris and Ray Bolger among the stars competing on the amateur side. They're all on-hand to see Sanders take the victory on Sunday, in a playoff over Palmer. 

Sunday has a serious side, as well. I'm not going to say anything else about this, except that, looking at it from today's perspective, it seems to cut a little too close to the bone for me. I'll add this, though: they were entirely upfront about what they were going to do and how they were going to do it (Sunday, 6:30 p.m., NBC):

On Tuesday, the CBS News Special "16 in Webster Groves" (10:00 p.m.) looks to find out "what 16-year-olds think of love, war, cheating, and parents." Webster Groves, Missouri, is a suburb of St. Louis, and in 1966 the population was probably around 29,000 (it's a little over 24,000 today). The special's producer, Arthur Barron, calls it a representative suburb, and that it "may well be like this in other American suburbs." Interviews with host Charles Kuralt "point up the teenagers’ desire for social acceptance—to be 'in' rather than 'out'—and cameras show the youngsters during confrontations with their parents, and at class, the local drag strip, a traditional football rally and a night club for teens only." In many ways, teens back in 1966 are much like teens are today; I'd wager, though, that the things they do when they're acting out, the ways in which they seek to be "in," their hopes and fears—those might be a little different today. Do they think the world will be a better place when they're adults? Do they think their children will have a better quality of life than they do? Do they even think there will be a future? I wonder. But on the very next page of this week's issue, there's an add for the latest volume from Time-Life Books, and that might give us the answer:

Meanwhile, all Richard Kimble has to worry about on The Fugitive (Tuesday, 10:00 p.m., ABC) is whether or not his new female friend's uncle, a retired detective, is on to him. Just a little thing, right?

Here's a kind of Whitman's sampler of some of the more popular programs on Wednesday: On the aforementioned Lost in Space (7:30 p.m,. CBS), "Will insists on repairing the rusted robot he found, despite a warning from the Robinsons’ own robot that the device is actually a robotoid—capable of free choice." Danger, Will Robinson! You can't say that Cleveland Amory didn't warn us about what happens when the Robinsons ignore the robot's recommendations. On The Beverly Hillbillies (8:30 p.m., CBS), "Sonny Drysdale [Louis Nye], who's been attending college for 19 years, is summoned home by his stepfather. The elder Drysdale wants Sonny to try working for a change—and he'd also like to see him get married to Elly May." You know what? I don't think so. And on The Big Valley (9:00 p.m., ABC), "Jarrod wants to help Keno Nash, who has been released from prison after serving nine years for a crime he didn’t commit. Jarrod, as prosecuting attorney, helped put Nash behind bars." Considering that Nash is played by the always-disagreeable Albert Salmi, I don't think it's going to be as easy as all that.

On Friday, Sammy Davis Jr. returns as host of The Sammy Davis Jr. Show (8:30 p.m., NBC), and if you're wondering why this is such a big deal, let's flash back to this article, which recounts the troubled history of the show, particularly the contractual problem that Sammy found himself in as a result of an ABC special called "Sammy and His Friends," which had aired the previous week and prohibited Davis from appearing on any other network for the three weeks immediately preceding the show. (Both Davis and NBC had hoped that ABC would either air the special earlier, or waive the provision in the contract, but the network was unwilling to budge on either.) So while this week's episode is the fifth to air, it's only the second one to feature Sammy as the host of his own show. (Johnny Carson, Sean Connery, and Jerry Lewis filled in as hosts while Davis was sidelined.) Unfortunately, the show only runs for 15 weeks, but that's another story. Oh well; Sammy's guests tonight are Trini Lopez, Corbett Monica, Paula Wayne, and dancer Johnny Brown, who performs as part of a production number with the cast of "Golden Boy," the musical in which Davis stars on Broadway. 

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Later on Friday, it's The Smothers Brothers Show (9:30 p.m, CBS), and the story behind this odd series is covered in a feature article by Leslie Raddatz. Unlike their controversial variety show, this version of The Smothers Brothers Show is a sitcom, featuring Dick as a junior executive at a publishing company, and Tom as his deceased brother, who has returned as an apprentice angel trying to earn his wings. (And if that isn't a recipe for disaster, I don't know what is.) What is the same, however, is the controversy behind the scenes, with the Brothers providing more than a little stubborn when it comes to putting the show on the air.

Everything was smooth going, Raddatz recounts, until the Brothers read the first script. They hated it—"It was too gimmicky and full of old jokes."—and they refused to shoot the script until it was rewritten. The delay cost the studio, Four Star Television, a reported $15,000. Tom and Dick insist that they tried to be cooperative, but as they watched the dailies, they could tell the show wasn't working. "We didn't know what we wanted, but we knew what we didn't want," Tom says. As one source reports, "the attitude on the set was murder." Phil Sharp, then the show's producer, says that he didn't think the Brothers understood how the humor of a sitcom works, and felt their complaints were hiding the fact they were afraid. When Thomas McDermott, president of Four Star, suggested that if everyone couldn't get along, they should just call it quits, the Brothers rose in unison, said, "Fine!" and got up to leave. They were almost out the door before McDermott caught them. The upshot was that Phil Sharp was out as producer, replaced by Fred de Cordova, and the quality of the show—and the Brothers' satisfaction—gradually improved. Raddatz concludes that, "as Messrs. Sharp and McDermott discovered, you don’t tamper with the Smothers Brothers."

Now, I've never been a fan of the Smothers Brothers, and I can easily believe how difficult they may have been to work with in this case. But I have to feel some sympathy with them here, being asked to do something that is clearly not a good fit. The variety show, whether one thought it was funny or not, was a format that was perfect for them; trying to shoehorn them into a sitcom premise like this doesn't strike me as the best use of the very talent that brought them to the public eye in the first place. But, then, what do I know?

I do know this about the picture there and the headline that accompanies it: This must have been the only time the Smothers Brothers ever tilted to the right.

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MST3K alert: Untamed Youth (1957) Two sisters are arrested for vagrancy. Mamie Van Doren, Lori Nelson, John Russell, Don Burnett. (Wednesday, 11:30 p.m., KNTV in San Jose). As far as let's-put-on-a-show musicals goes, this one is actually a cut above normal. Could it be because of John Russell's performance as the evil work-farm overlord, or Lurene Tuttle in her patented weak-needy-woman role as the judge who unwittingly provides Russell with free labor because she's secretly married to him? No, everyone knows that, besides the musical numbers, there are two reasons this movie stands out: Mamie Van Doren. As Dr. Erhardt says, the Mad Scientists should keep her movies for themselves. TV  

This week in TV Guide: December 13, 1969

I'll admit that, as I was leafing through this week's issue, I wasn't sure what I was going to use as a lede. Oh, there'll be no problem filling up space, don't worry about that. But I was looking for something that leapt out at me, something besides the usual stories —you know, changing trends, updated technology, things like that. I might get to David Lachenbruch's article on killer X-rays by the end of the day, but as the first story? It just doesn't sing. And then I ran across Burt Prelutsky's profile of Michael Parks, and my problem was solved.

Parks, the star of NBC's Then Came Bronson, is, let's say, intense; "the angriest young man on two wheels." He's also undiplomatic, having told producers and studio heads where they could go and what they could do with their cameras. Prelutsky describes him as "brash, arrogant, defensive and insecure. He is also undeniably talented." When he first interviewed Parks for another story, it took him less than ten minutes to take an extreme dislike to him. "l didn't know you from Adam—pardon the joke— when you rang my doorbell," he told Parks. "I didn’t dislike you; I had no reason to. But, believe me, I’m working on it now." That seemed to satisfy Parks, and from there on they developed a common ground, if not a close friendship. 

What we come to learn about Parks is that he is honest to a fault, unable to pull his punches, almost allergic to tact. He'd just finished producing an anti-capital punishment film for the ACLU, and so Prelutsky assumed he was a liberal, but far from it. He's against the Pill ("I'm opposed to birth control. People are beginning to look at children as a plague. That's terrible."), against welfare* ("the way it is now. Too many people collecting it own new cars and go to the race track all the time."), the Warren Supreme Court ("It’s a laugh; it's not a good laugh. They’re undermining justice and destroying the Constitution."), and gun registration ("I’m opposed to it. In 1936 Hitler made the Germans register their guns, and in 1939 he just went around and collected them with no trouble."). His candidate in 1968 was George Wallace. I mention this not to make any kind of political point, but to illustrate the issues of the day, and how similar they seem to be to the issues of our day. Once again, the more things change. . .

*Lest you think he doesn't put his money where his mouth is, so to speak, he once tried to return payment he was contractually owed for a Quinn Martin project that was cancelled, on the grounds that he'd done nothing to earn it; because he desperately needed the money, his agent and Martin agreed to make it a loan that Parks would pay in full after he'd made three more movies.

Visiting Parks on the set of Then Comes Bronson, Prelutsky finds a changed man. His agent, Jack Fields, says Parkes had evolved; "Maybe for the first time in his life, he's happy." He's enjoying the series, and enjoying having his family around. "You know what they key is with that kid?" Fields asks. "Don't ever give him orders; if you just take the time to talk to him, he'll deliver the goods." I knew there was a reason I liked him.

It doesn't last, of course. After disputes with Bronson's producers, Parks will say that he was informally blacklisted in Hollywood, but continues to work in independent projects. He'll find late-life success working with directors who, like him, are nonconformists: David Lynch, Quentin Tarantino, Kevin Smith, and Robert Rodriguez. No matter how difficult he could be to work with, everyone agreed that he was a true talent; as Prelutsky says, "If he were half as talented and twice as diplomatic, he would have had this town by the tail." Jack Fields told him once that he was winning Pyrrhic victories but losing the war, but I guess there are some of us who will always keep thinking that if you win enough victories, the war will take care of itself.

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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 guests are singers John Davidson, Lainie Kazan and the Jackson Five; comics Guy Marks, and Wayne and Shuster; puppets in a dance number choreographed by Peter Gennaro and featuring Muppet Big Bird (from Sesame Street); El Conquistador Strolling Violins; the Mecners, novelty act; puppet Topo Gigio; and the Ed Sullivan Singers.

Palace: Flip Wilson co-hosts with Andy Williams’ scene-stealing bear (Janos Prohaska). Guests: O.C. Smith, Judy Carne, singer. Dana Valery, the Friends of Distinction, comic Gene Baylos, the juggling Villams and the Dancing Devils, Argentine folk dancers.

A situation like this calls for honesty, and as you all know, I'm nothing if not honest around here. I'm not a fan of John Davidson. I'm not a fan of the Jacksons. All right, there's Lainie Kazan, but she has other assets working for her as well. It's all there for Palace to steal, but can it take advantage? I'm not a fan of Judy Carne, and I'm not a fan of O.C. Smith (I don't eat green apples). Note that I'm not putting down any of these acts; they're not my flavor, but you may disagree, and you're prtobably more well-rounded if you do. As for me, well, this week's a Push.

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

It's rare that we get a Cleveland Amory review about a program that is well-done. (Do you know how long it took me to come up with that line?) We've seen Cleve dole out faint praise to shows that are good enough, but how often have we seen him nearly faint with pleasure over a program that may well exemplify the future of entertainment? I speak of The Forsyte Saga, the landmark 26-episode BBC series from 1967, now being shown on NET, and if you think I exaggerate Amory's praise of it, let me use his own words: The Forsyte Saga is "entertainment—prime, rare, rib-roast, Kansas City-cut entertainment. To say it is great is an understatement. It would be hard to imagine how it could be any better. It is, in short, television’s shining hour—and if you are lucky enough to be in a locality where The Forsyte Saga is shown, you will see not only what might have been, but also, and perhaps more important, what in the future must be." Is that good enough for you?

The Forsyte Saga, based on a series of novels by John Galsworthy, tells the saga of an English family over the course of nearly a half-century, from 1879 to 1926. So successful was it in England that evening church services were rescheduled in order to allow parishioners to catch the next episode. And it's not just the mother country that's gone wild over it. In the Netherlands, sporting events and public meetings have been rescheduled; in Israel, it's prohibited from being shown on the Sabbath to allow bigger audiences. It's a smash in Norway, in Zambia, in Taiwan and the Soviet Union. And now it has come to America, and Amory is right: it will change the face of television here. It's progenitor of the miniseries, gives birth to Masterpiece Theatre, and introduces the glories of British television to American audiences.

But, Amory reminds us, as good as The Forsyte Saga is—and proper credit belongs not only to Galsworthy's novel, but to the writers "apparently prepared to admit that Galsworthy was Galsworthy and they were not", the producers who cast great actors and actresses, and those stars, who are "magnificent" one and all—it is "no impossible dream that has somehow managed to come true once and can never again." It can be done here, tomorrow or even today. It needs only three things: a good book, the ability to stick to it, and good actors to bring it to life. That isn't asking too much, is it?

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One of these years, I'm going to spend the entire month of December with issues from the same year and in the same market; it's the only real way to get a true picture of when your favorite Christmas specials are shown. As I recall, I did come close to doing that sometime in the distant past, but I'm too lazy to check on it now, and in any case, it leaves me with something to look forward to in the future, and where would we be without that? 

Anyway, the point is not what might happen next year, but what is happening in the here and now: Northern California in 1969. And for that, we'll start with the deeply moving special J.T., making its debut on the CBS Children's Hour (11:00 a.m. PT). It stars Kevin Hooks, son of actor Robert Hooks, and later on one of the stars of The White Shadow, as a shy black youngster from Harlem, trying to nurse a sick alley cat back to health as Christmas approaches. Ja'Net Dubois plays J.T.'s mother, and Michael Goran is the store owner who comes to understand what J.T. needs. J.T. will later win a Peabody Award, as well as a place in the hearts of those who see it. (Take that, Hallmark!) You can be one of them, as it's available here. Later on Saturday, the Doodletown Pipers host a musical Christmas special (7:30 p.m., KXTV in Sacramento; also Sunday at 6:00 p.m. on KCRA in Sacramento), and while Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music Makers have their annual Christmas show next week, there's plenty of holiday spirit tonight as well. (8:30 p.m., ABC) 

Sunday features one of those "family specials" that are so often a part of the holiday season even though they have nothing to do with Christmas: Hans Brinker (7:00 p.m., NBC), starring Eleanor Parker, Richard Basehart, and Cyril Ritchard, with Robin Askwith as Hans. (You can see that one here.) Monday, Carol Burnett welcomes back her old colleagues Garry Moore and Durward Kirby, along with the Mitchell Boys Choir, for Christmas music and comedy. (10:00 p.m., CBS) 

Tuesday's Red Skelton Hour features, in Red's "Silent Spot" pantomime section, "The Magic of Christmas," with Santa at work in his toy shop. (8:30 p.m., CBS; view it here) And on ABC's Movie of the Week (9:00 p.m.), Lloyd Bridges and Shirley Jones star in Silent Night, Lonely Night, about two lonely people who meet at Christmastime. (By the way, this airs opposite another made-for-TV movie starring Lloyd Bridges, The Silent Gun, on NBC. I wonder how often someone has appeared on two different movies airing on two different networks at the same time? And with similar titles?)

Now here's something I don't understand—a couple of things, in fact. On Thursday, we find something called "Christmas Story" at 7:30 p.m. on NBC. What is it? The Little Drummer Boy, the Rankin-Bass classic narrated by Greer Garson, with Jose Ferrer, Teddy Eccles, Paul Frees, and the Vienna Choir Boys. That's followed on the same network at 8:00 p.m. by "Variety Special," which happens to be Bing Crosby's Christmas special, with Carol Burnett, Juliet Prowse, and Roy Clark. (The Close-Up at right is from a different TV Guide issue.) Could we get any more generic in our program descriptions? Why didn't TV Guide just use the actual titles of the shows? (Bing Crosby uses less space than Variety Special.) Especially since the Crosby clambake is followed by "Bob Hope" at 9:00 p.m. Or would that have been asking too much? (This isn't the Bob Hope Christmas special, by the way, although it is his year-end show, with an appearance by the Football Writers Association All-America team.)

Friday features high drama for The Brady Bunch—Carol has laryngitis, and may have to cancel her solo at the church's Christmas service. Will she recover in time, or will Dr. Marcus Welby be called in at the last minute? Tune in at 8:00 p.m. on ABC. Later, Jimmy Durante Presents the Lennon Sisters celebrates Christmas in a big way, with Lorne Greene, Jimmy's eight-year-old daughter Cece, and 25 members of the Lennon family, before an audience made up entirely of Lennon family members, friends, and neighbors. (10:00 p.m., ABC)

By the way, remember that Lloyd Bridges doubleheader on Tuesday? We've got something similar tonight, although on a much smaller scale; Antoinette Bower guests on NBC's Name of the Game at 8:30 p.m., while she's also playing Berlin Betty on Hogan's Heroes at the same time on CBS. So maybe it wasn't quite as unusual as I thought; at the very least, it shows who the working actors are. Meanwhile, the CBS Friday Night Movie at 9:00 p.m. is Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, while the TV series it's said to have inspired, Here Come the Brides, airs opposite it on ABC. Coincidence?

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All right, here's that story on the dangers of X-rays emitted by color television sets. It's written by TV Guide's resident tech expert, David Lachenbruch, so it should be reliable. Not surprisingly, the opinions of top radiation scientists have been mostly buried because they're not as sensational as the scare headlines newspapers love to run. 

The concern isn't that the rays given off by TVs are harmful to individual viewers; rather, it's that the collective release from some 20, 40, or 80 million sets might add to background radiation, which could increase the pollution of the atmosphere. It's also possible that people who spent a lifetime in front of a color set could experience a cumulative exposure that could cause illness or defects in future generations, but there's considerable doubt within the scientific community about this. 

In fact, because radiation is so easy to block by using metal shielding within the set, it's never been considered that much of a problem. The standard for acceptable radiation emission was set extremely low—five times stricter than that used by UL. All the fuss started in 1967, when an unnamed television manufacturer (General Electric, for the record) discovered a higher-than-permitted amount of radiation escaping from their sets due to inadequate shielding and a poorly designed regulator tube. The sets were recalled, the tube replaced, and additional shielding added. 

Most important, says Lachenbruch, "Even though some of the sets radiated hundreds and even thousands of times the amounts specified by [the National Council on Radiation Protection and Measurements], there have been no reports of any harm to any individual." According to Dr. Victor P. Bond, associate director of Brookhaven National Laboratory, it's certainly prudent to limit exposure to radiation; nevertheless, "it is quite clear that the probability of significance or even detectable medical effects from X-rays emitted by faulty color receivers is vanishingly small." Even the Public Health Service has decided the risk is too small to continue with further tests on existing sets.

So, the bottom line is this: John C. Villforth, director of the Bureau of Radiological Health, Department of Health, Education and Welfare, says there's no reason for people to "go easy" on color TV watching. "There is no danger in color TV." Now, when it comes to the programs on TV . . .

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Finally, no cultural review of TV Guide would be complete without a look at one of the dominant figures in American television in the last part of the 20th century: Aaron Spelling. Dick Hobson calls him a "Triple T," which stands for "Tremendous Television Tycoon." (His associates call him "Big A".) Keep in mind that at this point in his career, Spelling is only 43, yet he has "made-to-order suits, a big black Cadillac, and a $275,000 house in the Golden Triangle section of Beverly Hills. He plays softball on Sunday afternoons with Tony Curtis, Bill Cosby, Paul Newman and James Garner." And his weight never goes over 145, because he works so hard. 

He's become ABC's chief independent supplier of prime-time programs, numbered among which are The Mod Squad, The New People, seven of the 25 Movie of the Weeks, and more pilots in the pipeline than the Air Force. (He was also responsible for one of my favorite shows, Burke's Law.) He believes that what's in today is the youth movement, and when someone asks about The New People, which is getting smothered by Laugh-In, Gunsmoke, and Here's Lucy, he replies, "At least it's a show of today. I'd rather fail with The New People than get rich with Petticoat Junction." I suppose, although I'm not sure the network, let along Paul Henning, would agree. 

We get a chance to see Spelling at work: in his office, at meetings with ABC executives, and on the set of The Mod Squad, where he helps comfort Peggy Lipton, still grieving over the recent murder of her close friend, Sharon Tate. "Driving to the studio I had to pull over," she tells her costars. "I couldn't see through the tears." "When your phone didn't answer," Clarence Williams replies, "I thought you were up identifying bodies or something." If that doesn't give you an idea of the atmosphere in Hollywood at the end of the Sixties, nothing will.

What I find most interesting about this article, though, is the temptation that must have existed back in 1969 to see Aaron Spelling at the top of his game—and yet we haven't even begun to approach Peak Spelling. So many of the people we read about in these pages are of the moment, if you will; movers and shakers, stars and starlets who were big at the time, or about to be big—and yet they're either strangers to us today, or people who were already as big as they were going to get, though nobody knew it yet. 

Not Aaron Spelling. I'm sure he never doubted that there were more hits in his in box, but could anyone have predicted how many, or how big? This is the man who goes on to give us Charlie's Angels, The Love Boat, Hart to Hart, Dynasty, Beverly Hills, 90210, Melrose Place, 7th Heaven, and Charmed, and those are only the biggest hits. By comparison, in 1969 he's just getting started. Had TV Guide surveyed his career based only on those eight series I listed above, he would have been considered one of Hollywood's most successful producers ever. But to think that he was already there well before any one of them—well, we should all be so lucky. I wonder what level comes after Triple T? TV