People – Page 5 – I Remember JFK: A Baby Boomer's Pleasant Reminiscing Spot

Orson Bean

Orson Bean was born Dallas Frederick Burrows on July 22, 1928 in Burlington, Vermont. He had a cousin you may have heard of, Calvin Coolidge. But speaking from my own perspective, he is renowned for his quick comedic style and demonstrated on various episodes of the Johnny Carson Show which I viewed as a child.

The original Mr. Bean was a huge influence on this particular class cutup who continues to practice his craft as he very rapidly nears the half-century mark. But interestingly, while I have found much in the way of biographical information on Orson Bean the stage and film actor and panelist on To Tell the Truth, information on his Tonight Show appearances was practically nonexistent.

So today’s I Remember JFK memory will recall the nights when I would light up like a Christmas tree, because (a) Orson Bean was on Carson and (b) it was either a summer night or a Friday, which meant that I could actually stay up and watch the funniest man in the world, apologies to Johnny himself.

When he was a teen, Burrows dreamed of a career as a magician. He took on the first name of another famous prestidigitator, Orson Wells. I was unable to find the source of his adopted last name, maybe it just sounded good to the young man.

His quick wit soon outshone his sleight-of-hand talents, and by the early 50’s he had a successful New York nightclub act. Life was good for the young man, but he felt a strong calling to the footlights. From 1955 to 1961, he appeared in some likewise successful Broadway shows. He won Critics Choice awards for his performances in Mister Roberts and Say Darling.

Bean continued to appear in Broadway plays throughout the mid 60’s, but was better known in the early part of the decade for his gig as a panelist on To Tell the Truth.

Recent photo of Orson and his wife Alley Mills

By the early 70’s, his show business jobs consisted largely of guest appearances on talk shows.

Must-see TV for me was when I would catch a commercial for that night’s Carson show and among the guests was Orson Bean.

Bean’s gigs on the show exemplified his talents in delivering the quick quip, the good old-fashioned joke, and the hilarious true-life tale.

One I recall involved his wife and himself stumbling into a crowded gay New York bar. They soon realized that they were in the wrong place, and began making their way to the front door through the throng. Orson felt a pinch on his rear end. He turned around to see a young man looking the other way. So he playfully pinched him back. The man gave him what Bean described as a “dazzling smile.” Once his wife and himself made their escape, she said “I spotted a path to the door and pinched your butt to get your attention. Why did you ignore me?”

I’m happy to report that Orson is still around and working. He was on How I Met Your Mother last year. He also had a fat recurring role as storekeeper Loren Bray on Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman as well as roles on some successful Norman Lear series of the 70’s.

Here’s hoping he keeps working a long, long time. And here’s also hoping that some of his Carson appearances turn up on YouTube soon.

One Small Step for Man . . .

Neil Armstrong’s first footprint on the moon

What a thrilling ride the space program was in the 50’s and 60’s. Russia whizzed off Uncle Sam with a little metallic sphere called Sputnik, and the race was on.

John Kennedy, still stinging from the Bay of Pigs fiasco, made a speech in 1961 in which he set the goal of landing a man on the moon before the end of the decade. It made the public go “hmm . . .”

And, though it seemed like a very difficult goal to reach, on July 20, 1969, it was accomplished. And if you remember JFK, you also remember that moment when an announcement was made: “Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.” And a few hours later, Armstrong’s immortal line was spoken as he casually stepped out onto the moon, for the first time in human history.

I remember getting to stay up late to watch the event. I watched breathlessly as he descended the ladder, stepped off, paused a moment, and stated “That’s one small step for (static) man, one giant leap for mankind.”

The static forever raised the issue of whether Armstrong flubbed his line. An “a” would have made more sense. But the static could well have covered it up.

Such is human nature. Perhaps the single greatest accomplishment of the 1960’s, and we argue about what exactly was said. All I know is that if I had just taken control of a spacecraft from a computer that was guiding it towards a field of boulders, found a better landing spot, and set the craft down with 15 seconds of fuel, my first words would probably have been “Holy crap!” or something to that effect.

I remember walking out in the yard and looking up at the moon, a little bigger than half full. I was stunned at the age of nine that, at that moment, men were walking on its surface.

We didn’t realize it at the time, but this was the climax of the space program. Many more trips to the moon were planned, but some were canceled as public interest waned and the cost of the trips was seen as too much when we had problems here on earth.

Speaking of that, one more permanent effect from that night in July so long ago was the addition of this introductory phrase to man’s vocabulary: “If they can put a man on the moon, then why can’t they . . .”

One Moves Out, One Moves Up

Our tract home, and my oldest brother in the background

Today’s reminiscence is one that is shared by all generations, but I’m going to wax poetic on my own particular experience.

Our little tract home in Miami, Oklahoma seems cramped by today’s standards. It was three bedrooms and one bath. My eldest brother had his own room, while the middle and myself shared another.

It was a cozy, wonderful place to spend the first eight years of my life.

But one day, about 1965, a remarkable transformation took place overnight. My oldest brother headed off to college, and my other brother took over his room.

I had a room all to myself!

Indeed, it was a very liberating experience for all three siblings. One on his own for the first time, and two others with their own private hideaways.

One memory I vividly recall was Terry asking me if I wanted a huge, ugly No Trespassing sign that someone had liberated from a government facility somewhere. It was attached to his bedroom door, and apparently mom was eager to see it go, because she hauled it to the trash before I could answer “Heck yes!”

My room became sort of a bedroom/den, as the television was hauled in there. A swamp cooler was also installed, So needless to say, “my” room was a very popular place on hot summer days and nights.

I remember sitting in that room watching that television when Martin Luther King’s assassination hit the news. I had heard of him, but wasn’t sure why anybody would want to kill a man who kept saying we should have peace and stop fighting among ourselves.

I guess I still don’t get it.

I loved having the TV in there because my mom might stay up until 10:00 watching it, and I would fall asleep listening to it. That was WAY past my bedtime, BTW.

Later, my brother Bill joined the Navy, and I had the whole house to myself. Headsome times, indeed.

Today, my beautiful bride of nearly twenty-five years and I have a 1500 square foot home to ourselves. I gained an office when my daughter left two years ago, and now we have an unused bedroom that was formerly inhabited by her younger brother, now on his own out in California.

This is the stuff that fills a middle-aged Boomer’s head with all sort of conflicting emotions.

I guess I’d better get used to it.

Mr. Wizard

At presstime, the world has just heard of the death of Don Herbert, aka Mr. Wizard. He passed away on June 12, 2007, just a bit short of the age of 90. He had been fighting cancer.

Mr. Wizard was an amazing man who turned many generations of kids onto science. My oldest brother, 15 years my senior, and I were both enthralled by his original series, Watch Mr. Wizard. The show ran from 1951 to 1965, long enough to be a favorite of all of the Enderland boys. I just barely remember watching it, but I remember being thrilled by the amazing things you could do with items found around your house.

Herbert flew a B-24 in WWII, and came home to get into the radio business. Like many radio types, he moved naturally into the fledgling television industry. In 1950, he pitched the idea of a science show to advertisers. They weren’t impressed. Still believing he had a good idea, he turned the show over to producer Jules Power.

By the next year, he had landed a slot on NBC’s schedule, and the first episode of Watch Mr. Wizard went on the air.

The show featured Herbert and one or two boys who would watch in wonder and ask lots of questions as he taught them about everything from archaeology to zoology. But Herbert didn’t see any reason to exclude girls, and they began appearing the next year.

Herbert insisted on keeping his experiments simple enough so that kids at home could perform them. He generally spurned laboratory equipment in favor of jelly jars and the like. His goal was that kids learn something, and that they not be so intimidated by expensive lab equipment that they shy away from trying the experiments themselves.

Nickelodeon hired him for Mr. Wizard’s World, a three-times-a-week show that ran from 1983 to 1990. A whole new generation of youngsters were thus able to develop a love for science.

He was involved in other TV projects as well, and his is a familiar face to millions. There is no guess as to how many kids grew up to pursue careers in science as a result of Mr. Wizard. His legacy will live on in them, as well as in reruns, memories, and imitators.

Monty Python’s Flying Circus

Public Television in the US was launched in 1967. Before that, it had been known as Educational Television. It was a hodgepodge of non-commercial programs that ran without advertising, or government intervention. It was largely supported by contributions, with a little tax money thrown in.

Public Television stations were pretty rare about then. KOED, the Tulsa affiliate, actually began operation in early 1959. It was one of the first. many metropolitan areas didn’t get PBS affiliates until the 70’s.

But it didn’t take long for the upstart network to get some programming that attracted the attention of viewers. These included Sesame Street, Masterpiece Theater, and a British import known as Monty Python’s Flying Circus.

When word got out that these excellent offerings were being shown on the funky, commercial-free (but telethon-laden) network, the public began demanding PBS stations in the various areas they called home.

Monty Python was a big hit in England, when it debuted in 1969. But it soon became a worldwide phenomenon with its airing over American PBS stations.

Its premise was too good to ever have been spawned over here. The closest we came was SNL’s Not Ready for Prime Time Players. You see, Monty Python’s Flying Circus assumed that its audience was smarter than a shrubbery. Their humor explored such intellectual ground as philosophy, literature, and history. And if you didn’t know who Immanuel Kant was, they figured you would look him up, and find out why it was funny to refer to him as a drunk.

The writing was brilliant. So was the ensemble.

Eric Idle, John Cleese, Terry Jones, Michael Palin, the late Graham Chapman, and Yank Terry Gilliam were talented in comedy, music, and, in Gilliam’s case, animation

Audiences were treated to sketches that forced them to think, even though they involved dead parrots, giant cats, and lots of guys dressed like women. I remember staying up until 10:00 on Saturday nights to watch MPFC on the local PBS station and laughing until I had tears. Then, later on, when Mayberry RFD would come on, I would shake my head sadly.

The cast all went on to bigger and better things, further proof of their genius. Idle, Cleese, Palin, and Jones are familiar faces on TV and the big screen. Chapman was a fixture on American TV before his untimely 1989 death from pneumonia. Gilliam co-directed the smash Monty Python and the Holy Grail with Jones, then went on to direct Twelve Monkeys, The Fisher King, and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, among other successful films.

And what additions they have made to the English language! For example, the word “pythonesque” is found in the Oxford English Dictionary. And what internet surfer isn’t familiar with “spam?” And when someone coughs noticeably in cubicleland, who hasn’t heard “bring out yer dead!”

The timeless episodes, with all of their references to non-current events, are as much fun to watch now as when we were much younger.

So here’s to Monty Python’s Flying Circus: an acme that television may never again reach.

Merv Griffin: Talk Show Host, Game Show Genius

On July 6, 1925, a baby boy was born in San Mateo, California. He was christened Mervin Edward Griffin Jr., but was soon known as just plain Merv. Precocious as a child, he was “publishing” his own single-page newspaper as a seven-year-old.

The chunky Merv wanted to be a singer, and at the age of 19 was performing on a national radio show called San Francisco Sketchbook. However, his live appearances often prompted laughter by audience members who discovered that the silky-voiced singer was quite overweight. Griffin, stung by the jibes, lost 80 pounds.

The slimmer, trimmer Merv landed a singing gig with big band leader Freddy Martin.

Griffin’s singing success and business acumen eventually led to his own recording label, Panda Records. He scored a hit in the 50’s with I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts, hitting Number 1.

Doris Day spotted the handsome young singer and offered him a screen test. He ended up with quite a few film roles, including one where he delivered Hollywood’s first open-mouthed kiss in 1953’s So This Is Love.

But the multi-talented Griffin still hadn’t found his perfect niche.

In 1958, Merv hosted a game show called Play Your Hunch. It lasted for four years. One day, Jack Paar stumbled onto the set accidentally during a live broadcast. Merv talked him into staying on for an impromptu interview. Paar complied, and was so impressed with the self-assured host that he offered him a substitute host gig on Paar’s Tonight Show. He was a natural for the talk show host role.

In 1962, NBC launched The Merv Griffin Show, a daytime talk format. While initial ratings were strong, they soon fell. The show was gone within a year.

Undaunted, Griffin launched a syndicated version of a talk show featuring himself as host in 1965. It was picked up by stations in great numbers, and he was soon a familiar face on local stations at all hours of the day or night. It was a success that appeared more-or-less regularly until 1986.

Merv with Jeopardy’s original host, Art Flemming

Griffin wasn’t averse to plying his guests with complimentary cocktails before their appearances. The lubricated, tongue-loosened guests were then interviewed by Griffin, with lots of laughs and spontaneous confessions to accompany.

Merv never forgot his game show roots, and talked NBC execs into trying an unconventional format which he had envisioned. A contestant would select a question with a dollar value attached. An answer would be read. The first contestant to buzz in would ask a question. And, if the wrong question was asked, they would be penalized the dollar amount!

Of course, you recognize the premise as that of Jeopardy!, still hugely popular well over thirty years since its debut. No slouch at game show creation, he also launched Wheel of Fortune in 1975, and it’s still a big hit.

Griffin was a success in show business, in business in general, and as a nice person by account of friends and acquaintances. His estimated worth at his untimely death from prostate cancer on August 12, 2007, was over a billion dollars.

A good example of his business smarts: He decided Jeopardy! needed a little ditty to play while contestants scrawled out their Final Jeopardy answers. So he composed the familiar waiting tune sitting at a piano in about a half hour. He retained rights to the song, even after he sold the show. He estimated the song made him 70-80 million dollars.

Atta boy, Merv. Rest in peace, old friend.

Marilyn Is Dead!

As I have stated repeatedly here, my first coherent memory was the death of JFK. However, many slightly older Boomers have have a similar photographic recollection of the death of renowned tortured soul Marilyn Monroe.

Starlets have handled their fame with various degrees of aptitude. Some, like Mae West, reveled in the attention, and couldn’t get enough of it. Others, like Greta Garbo, felt the need to withdraw completely from public life. Then there are the tortured souls, who simply can’t find a way to cope with stardom’s steep cost.

Norma Jeane Mortensen never knew her father. She barely knew her mother, who spent her own tortured life in mental institutions. Her childhood homes consisted of California foster care facilities. And, sadly typical of foster homes, her young life was scarred by episodes of abuse.

In 1942, at the age of sixteen, she entered into an arranged marriage with James Dougherty. The plan was cooked up by her then-current foster mother, Grace Goddard, in order to keep Norma Jeane from yet another foster move, as Grace was about to move out of the state.

Predictably, the marriage didn’t last. In the beginning, Norma Jeane enjoyed playing with the neighborhood children until her husband would call her home. As she matured into adulthood, she decided that she wanted more out of life. By 1946, she struck out on her own.

By then, she had dyed her brown hair platinum blonde, and was now successfully employed as a model. Ben Lyon, a 20th Century Fox executive, spotted her and offered her a screen test. She did well, and went to work under a six month, $125-per-week contract. She also changed her name to Marilyn Monroe.

Real stardom followed, and by 1952, she made her first appearance on the cover of Life magazine.

She was now the toast of Hollywood, but marital happiness proved elusive to the superstar. The Joe DiMaggio marriage lasted a mere nine months, and steely, intense Arthur Miller provided no emotional support for the fragile actress.

She turned to prescription drugs to ease the pain, and her personality began to be adversely affected. Her moods largely depended on what medications were coursing through her bloodstream at the moment.

Suffering from a severe sinus headache, Marilyn took some prescribed antibiotics and amphetamines shortly before an invited performance at the White House to wish President Kennedy a happy birthday. Appearing to be drunk, she caused a spectacle by half-whispering a seductive version of the song.

Marilyn singing Happy Birthday to President Kennedy

As had happened so many times in her life, the public perception of events didn’t tell the whole story.

A couple of months later, Marilyn was found dead in her hotel room. The death was ruled to be an overdose of barbiturates.

Soon, the conspiracy theories flew through the air like filthy starlings heading for their sundown roost. What killed Marilyn? Was it a suicide? Cubans? Russians? Jimmy Hoffa?

Marilyn and Joe were to have been remarried. The despondent once-and-future groom had fresh roses placed at Marilyn’s crypt thrice-weekly for the next twenty years.

Thus ended the tortured life of Norma Jeane Mortensen, aka Norma Jeane Baker, Norma Jeane Dougherty, and Marilyn Monroe. Her death, as depicted on the AMC series Mad Men, was a cause for deep national mourning.

Many point to JFK’s assassination as the end of innocence for the 60’s. However, a case could certainly be made that the demise of this fragile starlet over a year earlier was the real death knell for the carefree times that our prosperous parents had enjoyed after the end of WWII.

Lessons Learned on the Playground

When the recess bell would ring in 1967, thus would begin a mad dash by students weary of classwork out of the classroom and towards the most desirable piece of playground equipment: the swing set.

There are still many school swing sets like that which continues to exist at Nichols School in Miami, Oklahoma that many, many generations of school kids have enjoyed. When the one that I played on was erected in the 50’s, it was made of strong tubular steel set deeply into the ground in concrete. It has withstood tornadoes, floods, and steady use by thousands of children over more than fifty years.

However, what might bring it down one day is no force of nature, but rather the fear of liability.

In today’s litigious, politically correct, it-takes-a-village society, playground equipment that has the slightest chance of causing injury to a poor, innocent child is an abhorrent thing. Yellow-Pages-advertising lawyers are hungry to get their slimy hands on any case involving a kid who splits a lip falling off of a jungle gym. What a sad situation compared to when we Boomers were kids.

We Boomers tend to accept what we can’t change. Make no mistake, we knew no limits on what we could change when we participated in sit-ins, campus protests, and marches. But nowadays, we know that some things, like death and taxes, are certainties, and we deal with it.

Maybe one reason we do so is that we grew up on those playgrounds where you could take as many dares as you wished, but if you screwed up, the price was pain, and a possible chewing-out by our parents for not being more careful.

Our swing set looked exactly like the one pictured. Four sets of swings, and a big, tall slide on one end. Of course, one swing was too high, one too low. That left only two that we all fought over. But that was okay, because one wouldn’t swing for the full twenty minutes of recess. No, you would get up to a suitable altitude, then launch yourself. Your feet might get as high as six feet off of the ground before you plummeted to the slight cushion of the sand. Then it was the next guy’s turn.

Yes, a kid or two broke an ankle while I was in elementary school. And each time, their parents would pick him up from the nurse’s station, take him to the doctor, and make certain the child had learned a lesson about just how daring he could be without becoming foolish.

The slide, too, presented adventure tempered by the possibility of danger. At the top of the slide, you were perhaps seven feet off of the ground. The teacher forbade more than one kid at the top at a time, but that didn’t stop us from pushing the limits when she wasn’t looking. And yes, once in a while a kid would fall off and split his head open. That kid was much more careful the next time.

A sanitized, foam-rubber-lined safe playset

Today, of course, any pain that a child might come into contact with is taboo. In fact, any situation that might cause harm to ANYONE is to be avoided if at all possible. Hence the square feet of warning labels that adorn new ladders. Did you know that it’s possible to fall off of a ladder and hurt yourself? How horrible! We must warn the masses!

The result, I fear, is one generation after another of kids who grow up into adults who feel entitled. Sure, the world owes me a living. Of course, I have a right to party. Too much credit card debt? I’m entitled to blow it off by going bankrupt. Not getting along with that girl I just married? Divorce time!

Perhaps the lessons we learned by experiencing the dire consequences of misusing potentially dangerous playground equipment would have well served the succeeding generations that were village-raised.

Johnny Cash: the Man, the Show

“Hello. I’m Johnny Cash.”

Those words opened an amazing variety show that shined brightly for three short years, from 1969 to 1971. My parents were both fanatics of the show, even though neither particularly cared for country music. Every Saturday night, Cash would grumble his intro and launch into the opening riffs of Folsom Prison Blues.

Cash’s show was appealing to all sorts of folks. The fact is that he was simply a master entertainer who could hold the attention of virtually any generation. I was a nine-year old kid who can still vividly remember his regular bits, including “Come Along and Ride This Train,” his gospel sings, and his nightly duets with June. I also remember the night he proudly introduced John Carter Cash, just born.

Johnny had some familiar country/rocakabilly faces on regularly, including the Statler Brothers (who later had a pretty good song themselves called “Kids of the Baby Boom”), Kris Kristofferson, and Carl Perkins.

He also featured acts that were distinctively NOT country musicians. Gordon Lightfoot, The Guess Who, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Melanie, Mama Cass, and Linda Ronstadt were on there strutting their stuff. Dylan would record a foray into country music about this time with Johnny’s help, Nashville Skyline.

Johnny could have been just another country hitmaker, and he certainly could have been great at it. But he elected to stay in touch with musical styles that would appeal to many others, including blues, gospel, rocakabilly, and even a spoken comedy hit, “A Boy Named Sue.”

Cash, the man, was an amazing human. He managed to overcome addictions that could have killed him, he kept on producing cutting-edge music right up until his death, and he promoted prison reform when it was unpopular. He also masterminded a great TV show. It might have lasted many seasons, unfortunately ABC pulled the plug on it over Cash’s ignoring their desires for its focus.

Oh well, as his friend Neil Young said, it’s better to burn out than it is to rust.

Jerry Lewis and His Telethon

The year was 1952. Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin were the stars of The Colgate Comedy Hour. A staff member asked Jerry to help out with a local four-hour telethon to raise funds for research into muscular dystrophy which was broadcast on WABD-TV, a New York station. Jerry responded to the request, and history began.

Jerry hosted several local telethons to fight MD. But it wasn’t until 1966 that the first all-day Labor Day telethon was aired.

New York officials were reluctant to issue a fund raising permit. They saw failure written all over the idea. New Yorkers weren’t home watching TV on Labor Day, they were at the lake! The beach! The park!

Nevertheless, the first telethon was approved, and the results were startling.

It went on for nineteen hours, and when it was up to the final tally, Jerry had to paint a 1 on the six-digit board. He had blown away expectations by raising $1,002,114! This money was all from a broadcast on but a single New York station. An annual tradition was born. So was a Boomer memory.

Jerry and Jackie Gleason on a telethon from the 50’s

The next year, the tally board was expanded to seven digits. The previous year’s record was broken by over a hundred thousand. In 1968, four more stations picked up the event, and the record climbed to 1.4 million. One of the stations broke in from time to time to a local announcer who was in front of a bank of volunteers answering phones on camera. That station, Rochester, NY’s WHEC, drew in more money than the others. The cutaway was born.

1970’s telethon had a network of 64 stations. The five million dollar barrier was broken for the first time. Additionally, union restrictions were lifted, allowing coast to coast live broadcasting. Viewers from LA to NYC were able to see the big show.

The telethon gained momentum each year. In 1973, it was broadcast for the first time from The Sahara in Las Vegas, and an eighth digit was used for the first time in proclaiming a take of $12,395,973, a massive jump of almost 35% from the previous show. Oh, and Jerry, once again, painted a 1 on the tally board by hand.

Sinatra reunites Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis in 1975

The 1975 show was notable for a smile-inducing moment. Martin and Lewis had parted under less than amicable circumstances in 1956. They hadn’t spoken since then. But mutual friend Frank Sinatra shocked Lewis and the rest of the world by bringing Martin onto the stage in a teary-eyed reunion. Martin was doing his patented drunk act, but many suspect he was a lot more sober than he was putting on. If you listen closely to the Youtube clip, you can hear Jerry call Frank a son of a bitch. But the affection was genuine, and Dean and Jerry ended up good friends in their old age.

As the years wore on, Jerry had to make some adjustments. In 1999, he had to limit his onstage time to the first and last five hours. He has never suffered from the lack of volunteers to fill in for his absences.

2009 saw a tradition which began in the days of tiny black and white television screens move quite thoroughly into the 21st century by getting Youtube, Facebook, and Twitter involved with automated updates and the ability for donors to easily pledge online. 2010’s telethon allowed for an automatic $10 donation to be made via text.

The telethon’s biggest year so far was 2008, when it garnered $65,031,393. The bad economy be damned, 2010 still managed to bring in $58,919,838. Jerry’s telethons have given the Muscular Dystrophy Association over a billion dollars.

Speculation was rampant that this might have been Jerry’s final telethon. I’m sure that I represent the opinions of most Boomers when I say I hope not. It’s nice to see a living legend doing his thing with as much effectiveness as ever.