What's on TV? Monday, June 8, 1964

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas any— what's that? We are in Kansas? In that case, I'll just save this line until next week; wouldn't want to let it go to waste, would we? I think this is the first time we've visited the Kansas State Edition, although we might have seen a stray Kansas station appear in another edition, and since I hardly touched on the programming on Saturday, I feel I owe it to you to give you a look at what was on.

This week in TV Guide: June 6, 1964

How do you choose what you write about in each week's TV Guide? asked nobody ever. The truth is, there's no rhyme or reason to it, though some stories jump off the page and beg for attention more than others. But on occasion, there do seem to be some obvious choices; for example, there's the heading on this week's cover, "How to Make Millions Without Really Working." That seemed like an obvious place to start, since it might enable me to not only make millions myself (notwithstanding those who've suggested in the past that I've made thousands, or at least hundreds, without doing much of anything), but if the idea were really good, I could repackage and sell it to others who, like me, want to know the golden secret; this would, coincidentally, make make me more millions.

Alas, it's not quite so easy as that. The case in point is Milton Berle, who, as Dwight Whitney points out, is currently making $100,000 per year from NBC for doing absolutely nothing. To understand this, we have to flash back to 1951, when the network signed Berle, then at the top of his game, to a staggering 30-year contract. Part of that contract, perhaps the fine print, is known as the "pay even if no play" clause, which locks Berle into an exclusive arrangement with NBC. In other words, he works for them or for nobody; as Whitney puts it, the suits "would rather keep ebullient Uncle Miltie warming the bench at $100,000 a year than suddenly have him blast a homer for somebody else." It isn't exactly unusual to have this kind of clause in one's contract—Sid Caesar, Imogene Coca, Jimmy Durante, Lucille Ball, Phil Silvers, and Carol Burnett are among those who have similar contracts, although none of them have one that runs for as long as Berle's does.

It's this clause which results in one of the saddest, most pathetic sights ever seen on TV, the 1960 series Jackpot Bowling Starring Milton Berle, in which the man known as "Mr. Television" is reduced to doing standup in a bowling alley as a warmup to a couple of professional bowlers competing in a match. That Berle would subject himself to this kind of spectacle is, perhaps, a testimony to how badly he wants to perform. "This is my life," he tells an audience while performing in the Crystal Room. "I love the lights. I love to hear people laugh, and I love to make people laugh."


Despite the frustration that comes from sitting on the sidelines, Berle can't bring himself to give up the money. "It's a lot of money," he confesses, "but that's not what really bugs me. I have a lot to offer creatively and I want to know reasons. But there are no reasons." NBC, of course, presents a different picture. "We listened carefully to every one of Milton's ideas," says Mort Werner, vice president for programming; "they just didn't seem to work out for one reason or another. And a year ago he told us he wasn't interested in doing a weekly variety show." Werner points out that the network has loaned him out; he did a dramatic turn on The Defenders (which Berle says he had to beg NBC to let him do), and another time guest-hosted for Ed Sullivan. "But we can't let him do too much of that—we're not in this business to help out the competition."

In the end, it's a sad standoff. "Milton just can't stand having nothing to do," his wife Ruth says, but his pride just won't let him give in to NBC. In the end, of course, he does get out of the contract, enabling him to make a disastrous 1966 return to the variety show format for ABC, and he continued to appear in guest spots on various programs (including several very good performances in straight dramatic roles), but the glory days were exceedingly to be found in the past. In June 1964, no longer a superstar but not quite a has-been, he is very much a lion in winter.

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And then there's Richard Gehman's very funny profile of Steve Allen, the second of a two-part article. As you may remember from past articles, I've often approached Gehman cautiously, uncomfortable with his tendency to psychoanalyze his subjects in a somewhat disparaging manner. Perhaps it's the fact that the premise of Gehman's article—that Allen is one of the busiest performers in show-business—leads to a conclusion that is purely and delightfully absurd.

At this very moment, Allen is doing his five-nights-a-week Steve Allen Show, syndicated to 40 markets nationwide, mostly to compete with Johnny Carson. He's also just signed to replace Garry Moore as host of I've Got a Secret. This is how his schedule looks: "He will commute to New York every other week, tape two shows [of IGAS] there, get back to Hollywood and tape two of his own shows per night on Thursdays and Fridays (the fifth segment of the week will continue to be a rerun), and in addition will do various guest appearances as his whim strikes him and his energy permits."

Gehman takes a deep breath and recites Allen's various talents, while the rest of us suffer from a mass inferiority complex. He is a pianist, trumpeter, clarinetist, tuba player, bandleader, recording artist and songwriter; he has written 10 books and is a publisher of others; sculpts, lectures, does a nightclub act, and acts both in movies and on stage. He's a businessman and is active in politics. Some people think he's a jack of all trades, master of none, while others consider him shallow. The point is, he's a busy guy.

In attempting to interview Allen for this story, Gehman runs into roadblocks. albeit not intentional ones. He's meeting with agencies, talking to a representative from an actor's union, interviewing a singer, holding production meetings, working with the Cerebral Palsy charity, holding production meetings, and lecturing. Finally, Allen's talent coordinator comes up with an idea. "Why don't you come on the show and interview him?" Which is precisely what Gehman does.

There's nothing historic, or snarky, or particularly notable about the appearance; Gehman gets a chance to ask some questions and gets some answers. As I said, it's so absurd as to be perhaps the truest representation of the Hollywood lifestyle we'll ever see. If this had happened in, say, Get Shorty (one of the best treatments of said lifestyle), I never would have believed it.

After the show, as Gehman grabs a bite, he notices a sign at the market: WE NEVER CLOSE. "It was appropriate for Steve to be running his show so near, I thought. Steve Allen never closes either."

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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: Scheduled: Sir Alec Guinness in a scene from Broadway's "Dylan"; singer-actor Robert Horton; English musical comedy performer Tessie O'Shea; comics Nipsey Russell and Alan Gale; British vocalist Billy Jay Kramer; the Dakotas, British vocal and instrumental group; and comedians Grecco and Willard.

Palace: The host is Gene Barry, who parks his Burke's Law Rolls Royce and takes up his earlier profession of vocalist; Gloria Swanson and Buster Keaton, who offer a Mack Sennett silent-comedy version of the Cleopatra story and join Barry in a dance routine; comedian-singer Jack Carter; dancer Juliet Prowse; the Grammy award winning Swingle Singers; the André Tahon puppets; hand-balancer Marco; and the Romano Brothers, jugglers.

At first, I didn't think this would be much of a contest. When you start with Alec Guinness, as Ed does, that's pretty strong. It kind of tails off after that, though, with no disrespect to the rest of the guests. (And by the way, the Dakotas actually perform with Billy Jay Kramer.) On the other hand, while Gene Barry may not be any better a singer than Robert Horton, he fits the bill of host just fine, and it's hard to top two legends like Gloria Swanson and Buster Keaton. Throw in Carter, who's at least a big name, and Prowse, a talented dancer, and the Swingle Singers, and you've got a winning program. This week Palace takes the prize.

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

This week Cleveland Amory turns his eye to one of the longest-running and most successful of TV sitcoms, The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. And this is where we get to see the sophisticated and erudite Cleve make mincemeat out of the old-fashioned, corny humor of the Nelson family, right?

Wrong. Not that there's not plenty at which one could poke fun, such as the procession of Nelsons playing themselves in the show (Ozzie and Harriet, the two sons Dave and Rick, and their wives, Kristin and June), and the wholesome nature of the program, but Amory has nothing but respect for the program. "Indeed, we are inclined to believe that these adventures, Miss-adventures and now Mrs.-adventures, which were on radio long before the days of television—and, for all we know, have been going on since before the days of the telephone—still hold the mirage up to nature about as likably as any show on the air; and if you don't like it, it is perhaps less a reflection on the show than it is on the mirage itself—i.e., The American Way of Life."

The man most responsible for all this is Ozzie himself, as co-star, producer, director and head writer. He's the one that holds everything together and keeps it anchored, and if he's not the most exciting actor around, he still grows on you. As does Harriet, though more slowly; and the rest of the cast has advantages as well—Dave keeps the wholesomeness from being too much, and "Rick is always a threat to break up the plot with a song." Kristin and June are so obviously right for their roles that it doesn't really matter. In fact, Skip Young, who plays Wally, probably has the hardest role on the show: he's not a Nelson, doesn't even go steady with one, and can't play himself. What a hardship.

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One of the programs that got me most interested in television history was a 1963 Tennessee Ernie Ford special called The Story of Christmas, presented on NBC without commercial interruption and featuring an 18½ minute animated sequence depicting the story of the Nativity done by artist Eyvind Earle, who had previously worked at the Disney studios on such movies as Fantasia and Sleeping Beauty. It was one of the first non-series programs that I ever found on DVD, and for many reasons it's maintained a spot next to my heart since then.

According to the Hollywood edition of the TV Teletype, work has already begun on a sequel, The Story of Easter, which would reunite Ford, the Roger Wagner Chorale, and Earle's animation. I'd never heard of this, and a quick internet check informed me that the project was never green lit. Which is a pity, because in the process I also ran across some of Earle's conceptual art for the special, and as it was with The Story of Christmas, it is stunning, especially the image on the left, Jesus in the Temple. If you've seen any of those images, you'll recognize Earle's style here.

A real pity that this never got made; I'm sure that, like The Story of Christmas, it would have been a classic.

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Speaking of NBC, the network has another in its series of Project 20 documentary specials coming up on Tuesday at 8:00 p.m. CT. It's called "The Red, White and Blue" and is narrated by Walter Brennan, and producer Donald B. Hyatt has some interesting observations on its topic, ones that—as is so often the case—mirror the discussions that we have today.

At work in the world's largest flag factory, Verona, NJ

What, Hyatt says, has happened to the Spirit of '76? Watching a small Veterans Day parade on Fifth Avenue in New York City, he notes that as the flag passed, onlookers neither took off their hats nor held their hands over their hearts. Even when a massed group of 25 American flags passed, "[t]he sparse crowd was unimpressed. It was the same all along the parade route." The Pledge of Allegiance is increasingly being dropped from schools as students complain about "their rights." Sophistication is now in, and patriotism is "corny," for squares only. As one said, "All the flag flying these days is done by a lot of super patriots, nuts and radicals." Others equate patriotism with nationalism, or triumphalism. And this, Hyatt says, is deeply disturbing. "The kind of patriotism that our founding patriots envisioned had a universality to it. The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were written as testaments embracing all mankind."

Hyatt contrasts the apathy of New York with Faith, North Carolina, a town of 500 people, where a crowd of nearly 30,000 gathers to celebrate the Fourth of July. "Throughout the country," Hyatt says, "we found American patriotism far from dead, but it and the flag were hiding under a cloak of apathy and sophistication too often. We can't afford that." In another tiny town, Noank, Connecticut, the entire town marches to the cemetery on Memorial Day for a dedication.

Although he doesn't say it, I'd be tempted to think of this as an example of, in today's vernacular, "The Two Americas": one that takes pride in the country, the other that carries a sense of shame. I won't go into this in any detail because I want to stay apolitical, but I present it to you as food for thought. The divide, this difference of opinion, is nothing new, and apparently is not going to go away. The only thing we can control is how we react to it. TV  

Around the dial

A few internal announcements to lead off the day. First, you may have noticed some subtle changes to the site; I've moved several tabs, including the index to "This Week in TV Guide," from the top to the sidebar. The top is now reserved for items that I've done outside the blog, such as my books, videos, and appearances at other sites. Point is, if you're looking for something that isn't where it used to be, it's somewhere else. Nothing's disappeared.

A few weeks ago, I got an email from reader Barbie, with the following question: "I’m looking for a 1975 TV guide photo of the “Vegetable Soup” TV show. It may have been an insert. It was probably about a featured segment called “Nigel a boy and his boa”. I am friends with the person who played the boy in that segment. I’m trying to locate the photographs to present it to him as a gift. If you have any suggestions ideas or inclination on how I may track the photo down or find it, I would greatly appreciate it." I've been unable to find it so far myself, so I put it to those of you with TV Guides from the time. If any of you happen to have this picture, please let me know and I'll facilitate the communication with Barbie. Thanks in advance! And now to the best of the week.

At bare•bones e-zine, Jack comes to the last of the Morton Fine-David Friedkin scripts for The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, "The Monkey's Paw—A Retelling," broadcast on NBC on Monday, April 19, 1965. Find out what Jack thinks of this adaptation of a classic short story.

Jodie has an excellent, thought-provoking piece at Garroway at Large, with several examples of times when Dave Garroway took a strong and principled stand in favor of racial equality. Not surprisingly, his actions met with less than universal praise.

Here's something I think you'll really like, courtesy of Carol at Bob Crane: Life & Legacy: a 1988 reunion show originally broadcast on WZFM radio in New York, with Werner Klemperer, Leon Askin, Larry Hovis, and Robert Clary, and hosted by Paul Cavalconte. It's a lot of fun!

Time once again for David to ask the question "Purchase or Pass" at Comfort TV. This week's show: The Smith Family, the comedy-drama from 1971 starring Henry Fonda as a police detective, Janet Blair as his wife, and Darleen Carr, Ron Howard, and Michael-James Wixted as his children.

Television's New Frontier: the 1960s takes on the 1961 season of one of my all-time favorites, Perry Mason, focusing on a very interesting look at professor Thomas Leitch's analysis of Mason's enduring popularity, that's well worth reading.

While we might be excited here about entering the 10th season of It's About TV!, Terence is celebrating his 16th anniversary at A Shroud of Thought. Read more about it, including a list of his favorite pieces from the past year.

And at Wink Martindale's classic television game page, there's a tribute to Fred Willard with a look at a 2004 attempt to revive Match Game with this concept pilot, known as What the Blank. (Thanks, obmcomp!)

That's it for this week; stay safe out there, wherever you are, and we'll see you tomorrow. TV  

Dispatches from Hell

I didn't intentionally set out to watch the 1968 Democratic National Convention on YouTube because of the riots that ripped through the Twin Cities last week and spread around the country from here. Incidentally, we're doing fine; we're far enough away from the troublespots that nothing dramatic happened, although many of the stores and gas stations were boarded up over the weekend, just in case. But much of the violence occurred in the part of Minneapolis where I grew up watching the TV shows I write about here. No, I didn't have the foresight for that.

In my case, it's what comes from finding myself unexpectedly unemployed (again!), this time due to virus-related layoffs. It's all there, the convention coverage; you might remember a couple of weeks ago I mentioned that there's a YouTube channel for just about everything, and that turns out to include classic television news. Virtually all of the CBS coverage is there, as well as much of NBC's, and the drone of speeches, the shouts of delegates, and the playing of bands makes a pleasant background while cruising internet job boards and filling out applications.

I had to stop and watch, though, when it came to the police riot.

Some background: that picture at the top is from Wednesday night, the third night of the convention. To say that it had been a contentious convention so far would be an understatement; Tuesday, the second day, had been plagued by acrimonious debates over the seating of rival state delegations (those supported by the establishment and selected by party bosses vs. delegations that were more integrated, and more anti-war). The session ran past midnight, and is probably best-known for Dan Rather getting socked by security people during a brawl on the convention floor.



Wednesday afternoon had been taken up by the highly-anticipated (and feared) debate on the Vietnam War, with the pro-war forces (supporters of LBJ's Vietnam policy) winning a narrow victory over the anti-war proposals (favored by candidates Eugene McCarthy and George McGovern, and many of the delegates previously pledged to the late Robert Kennedy). It was a noisy, bruising debate, with much cheering and booing from each side, and a lot of bitterness afterward; mass protests in and outside the International Amphitheater where the convention was being held were a distinct possibility.

In a sense, though, this was just fanning the flames of a fire that had been smoldering for some time. Over 10,000 anti-war protesters representing various groups had descended on the city of Chicago prior to the debate; Chicago Mayor Richard J. Daley countered with 6,000 armed National Guard troops, in addition to the 11,000 city policemen working 12-hour shifts. When you put that many people in a relatively confined space (downtown, near Grant Park), something was bound to happen, and on Wednesday night—the night of the voting for the presidential nomination—it did.

It happened during the nominating speeches for president. Vice President Hubert Humphrey had wrapped things up by then, with McCarthy and McGovern candidates (and those touting a draft for Edward Kennedy) passionate but outnumbered. Following the nominating speech for McCarthy, given by Iowa Governor Harold Hughes, networks switched to taped coverage of the violence that had broken out between demonstrators and the police. (The coverage was taped due to a communications strike that prevented live remote coverage, a strike that some thought had been encouraged by Daley in an effort to limit media access to anything outside the controlled environment of the convention hall.) This footage comes from NBC, and while it's about nine minutes long, I think you'll find it worth watching:


It's shocking footage, and meant to be. I'm not going to go into a great deal of it here; I've already addressed it before, and at some length, in this piece, so there's no need to do it again. Word of the rioting spread to the convention floor, where it was called out by Connecticut Senator Abraham Ribicoff in his nominating speech for George McGovern.


Of course, none of this happened in a vacuum. There were the Watts riots in 1965, and the entire nation was rocked by rioting in 1967 and 1968. Chicago was not an isolated incident; it was, I suppose, inevitable.


I'm not trying to be political here, and this isn't going to be a commentary. My principle point here is that television played a major role in bringing the violence into the nation's living rooms, and that it serves as a primary source for anyone who cares about how history can help explain events and put them in proper perspective. I lived in Minneapolis during the 1967 and 1968 riots; I'd already seen it all, and perhaps worse. I remember that, just as it was over the weekend, there was a curfew, there were National Guardsmen, there were fires and clashes on the streets and areas we were told to avoid for the duration. As such, I wasn't as shocked as some here were, especially younger reporters. (I think my friend Marc Ryan would understand.)

All that doesn't mean I wasn't shocked, though, and dismayed. You like to think things have improved since then, but what it does go to show is that history seldom changes, it just recycles. Then as now, there were accusations of police brutality; then as now, there were charges of outsiders and rabble-rousers; then as now, buildings were torched, people were injured, property was destroyed; then as now, we saw it all unfold before our eyes on television. It was depressing then, and it's depressing now.

Things might not be as bad now as they were back in 1968; we've always had notoriously short memories, and today they barely stretch back more than a few months. We're on that road, though; if we just step on the accelerator a bit, we should be there in no time. TV  

What's on TV: Friday, June 4, 1971

The last time we took a look at the Montana edition, I mentioned what a mess it is: different time zones, multiple affiliate alliances, difficult-to-find shows airing on the "wrong" nights. This, of course, is what makes it fun! If you can't find something you like here, you're just not trying hard enough.