TV – Page 6 – I Remember JFK: A Baby Boomer's Pleasant Reminiscing Spot

The First Super Bowl

One of the coolest things about being a Boomer is that we can recall the very roots of the game which brings the USA to a stop every February, as the entire country takes time off (whether formally or informally) to observe two teams play for the championship of the NFL. In fact, some of our sweetest memories are of a time when the game was a game, not a religious observation marked by many hours of pre-game crapola and those silly pretentious Roman numerals.

Indeed, go back far enough and the very term “Super Bowl” was a mere nickname for the AFL-NFL World Championship Game. And the game itself was of interest to football fans, but not so much anyone else.

Commercials were a time to get up and go to the can. The pre-game show lasted a half hour or so. The halftime show was a time to go heat up more Ro-Tel dip. And the game itself was a sleepy demonstration of the vast superiority of the well-established NFL over the young upstarts known as the AFL.

Hmm, come to think of it, maybe it wasn’t so rosy back then after all?

The Super Bowl came into existence when the NFL could no longer ignore the lone competitor that ever arose which successfully challenged their stranglehold on the sport: the American Football League. The senior league struck a deal with the new kids which would end up in a merger three years after the first end-of-season championship game would be played. The leagues would be changed to conferences. But the Big Game would live on.

Pete Rozelle wanted to call the last game of the season “The Big One.” It might have caught on, too, but college postseason games had been called Bowls since antiquity, and Kansas City Chiefs owner Lamar Hunt suggested Super Bowl. The legend is that he did so after observing his daughter play with a Superball. In fact, the very Superball in question is on display at the the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

The first game was played at the L.A. Coliseum, which had a capacity of over 100,000. Nearly 40,000 of those seats were unoccupied. There simply wasn’t that much fan interest in seeing the very heavily favored Green Bay Packers whip up on a team from some Midwest cow town. And that was pretty much what happened, as MVP Bart Starr and the Pack trampled the Chiefs 35-10.

The tickets for the AFL-NFL World Championship Game ran at a starting price for the nosebleed section at six bucks. I seriously doubt there’s a single item for sale in the stadium of today’s game for less than ten bucks. My guess is a glass of ice will run for that.

The NFL wondered if they had done the right thing. So did CBS. In fact, most of that first game’s footage was erased, so the videotape could be used again for more important things.

The halftime show consisted of the University of Arizona and Grambling State University Marching Bands, Al Hirt, and the Anaheim High School Drill Team. I don’t have a figure on what commercial time cost, but I suspect it was somewhat less than three million bucks for thirty seconds, the price at presstime.

The next year wasn’t much better. In fact, it took a shocker by flamboyant New York Jets quarterback Joe Namath and his underdog team in 1969 to finally spark public interest. The halftime show remained a pretty staid affair, though, as various marching bands did their thing while the stadium and TV audience ran to the bathroom and/or the food stash. It took the Bicentennial to finally get a high-profile act there with the intention of continuing to hold audience attention. The performers? Up With People. The perennially optimistic group would be featured three more times before being bumped for bigger names.

It was Michael Jackson who put the halftime show over the top in 1993, the year of a particularly dismal game as the Dallas Cowboys disemboweled the Buffalo Bills by 35 points. If not for the Moonwalker, the entire country may have shut the snoozer off by halftime, with Buffalo trailing by 18 points.

Another feature of the Super Bowl which has gone from modest to pure glam is the rings awarded to the champions. The first rings were designed by Jostens, a national jewelry maker better known for class rings. Hence, the rings bore a resemblance to the ones we received in the 60’s and 70’s in our junior years at high school and college.

However, as the game gained in its godlike status, the awarded rings swelled in size, eventually becoming monstrous parodies of bad taste.

Take the rings handed out to the New England Patriots after the 39th Super Bowl in 2005. They had 124 diamonds each and weighed more than a quarter of a pound.

BTW, you might notice I refuse to use the Officially Sanctioned Roman Numerals. Ferpetesake, enough is enough. I enjoy a closely contested Super Bowl as much as anyone, but the self-importance of the whole thing is getting to be overbearing.

One last thought, a positive development in the game’s administration: a game finally being awarded to an outdoor stadium in a less-than-balmy spot. The 2014 game will be played at the New Jersey Meadowlands. That’s going to be a spectacle worth looking forward to, as fans pay hundreds or thousands of dollars for the privilege of sitting in possible sub-zero cold and watch two teams earn their stripes in the weather that football was MEANT to be played in.

Who knows, I might even use Roman numerals to refer to that one.

The 1972 Olympics

At presstime, Michael Phelps has just picked up gold medal number eight in the 2008 Summer Olympics. This makes the nostalgic among us (like you and me, for instance) harken back to when the mark of seven was set back in 1972.

The world was a different place back then. The war in Vietnam was still going on. However, Nixon was running for re-election promising “peace with honor.” Gasoline was still dirt cheap, but that was about to change. The previous Olympiad had been notable for the Black Power salute on the medals stand by Tommie Smith and John Carlos, as well as a record that was shocking in its destruction of the previous one, the long jump mark set by Bob Beamon.

What would the 1972 games hold? The event organizers were optimistic that there was less tension in the air than four years previously. The war looked to be winding down. Civil rights were at an all-time high, and getting better every day. Perhaps the 1972 Olympiad would be known as a return to the idealistic standard of sports without politics, or controversy.

Yeah, right.

The 1972 Olympics would certainly have its triumphant moments. For instance, USA swimmer Mark Spitz would win seven gold medals, a feat never before accomplished, and one which would take 36 years to surpass.

Incidentally, this would be followed by Spitz practically disappearing from public consciousness afterwards. A triumphant and handsome athlete who can’t cash in? Methinks he should have shopped around for a better agent. Contrast his case with that of Mary Lou Retton, who is still a familiar face in ads 24 years after winning gold.

Another name that jumped into the headlines for positive reasons was that of Olga Korbut. The seventeen-year-old touched a sympathetic nerve with viewers. A member of the cold-hearted, strictly-business Soviet bloc, she nonetheless displayed real tears after making mistakes, something we weren’t used to seeing. That made us cheer hard when she did well, and well she did well indeed. She won three golds and a silver, and would have won more if not for her frequent human failings, another trait that we were not used to seeing among the communist ice princesses.

By the way, Olga, now an American citizen, has had her ups and downs since then, but she appears to be on a nice upswing now, teaching gymnastics at Scottsdale, Arizona.

Controversy would also rear its head at Munich, though, in a minor way (it certainly didn’t seem that way at the time) as well as a tragic act of terrorism.

The US men’s basketball team had never lost in men’s basketball in Olympic play, winning seven gold medals dating back to 1936. But psychopathic timekeeping had a different outcome in mind this time. The end of the game was delayed again and again until Russia finally won. The shocked Americans appealed, and guess what? The two judges from democratic nations voted for them, the three from communist regimes voted against. The Russians won gold, the US refused silver. Even having a present-day democratic Russian government, I.E. winning the REALLY BIG competition, has not stifled the resentment felt all these years later among US Olympic basketball fans (and 1972 team members).

But this was mere sports and political prejudice. Sadly, genuine tragedy would also mar the 1972 games.

Palestinian terrorists kidnapped eleven members of the Israeli team, both athletes and coaches. They held them hostage, demanding the release of 234 prisoners held in Israeli prisons. Negotiations took place, and a plan to overcome the kidnappers and rescue the hostages was implemented. However, German police posing as flight crew on an airliner that was to transport the criminals to a NATO airbase backed down at the last minute and refused to take part.

Snipers attempted to take out the kidnappers, but failed to get them all. One of them tossed a hand grenade into a helicopter that held the Israeli hostages and all were instantly killed.

Thus, the Olympics were also marred by much mourning and anger over the botched rescue attempt, which continues to draw accusations of governmental conspiracy all these years later. Mark Spitz, a Jew, left Munich before the closing ceremony for his own protection.

What will the Olympiad of 2008 be remembered for? It’s too early to tell. But it’s safe to say that Michael Phelps will be looking to greatly surpass the post-Olympic buzz that Mark Spitz managed to harvest.

Spanning the Globe…

Roone Arledge was a man to whom any stockholder of ABC should raise a glass on a regular basis. He was single-handedly responsible for taking the perennially third-rated latecomer network and turning it into the sports powerhouse that it was during the time that we Boomer kids were growing up in the 60’s and 70’s.

Besides Monday Night Football, which is still riding high, Arledge was also responsible for a show which debuted in 1961 whose weekly 90-minute Saturday afternoon run is burned permanently into my memory banks, and probably in yours as well.

“Spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of sport… the thrill of victory… and the agony of defeat… the human drama of athletic competition… This is ABC’s Wide World of Sports!”

With those words, I would be parked in front of the television set for the next hour and a half, watching competitions between a bewildering variety of athletes, including figure skaters, drag racers, boxers, gymnasts, and jumping frogs.

At presstime, the world was mourning the recent death of longtime WWoS host Jim McKay. It was McKay who brought the drama to those opening words, which, incidentally, were written by writer/actor Stanley Ralph Ross, who is also known for penning numerous episodes of Batman, The Monkees, and All in the Family.

McKay hosted the show for a dizzying 25 years. Yes, there were others that followed, but McKay is the only one that anybody old enough to remember JFK gives a hoot about.

What I find amazing is that I would sit and watch entranced as sports that were quite obscure, or even competitions that weren’t sports at all, were shown to a kid who would normally not have time for anything but football or baseball.

Somehow, ABC’s Wide World of Sports made a badminton match sound like the most exciting competition in the world.

They also introduced the world to Mexican cliff divers. Rumor has it that ABC payed them a dollar a jump in the early days. It was a lot of bang for the buck. They would take a 150-foot plunge into the ocean, and the world that was tuned in on Saturday afternoon was amazed. It became one of the show’s most popular events, and, one presumes, the divers ended up getting a nice raise.

Other offbeat competitions included firemen trying to outdo each other in spraying a big barrel on a wire in a sort of reverse tug-of-war. The Calaveras County frog jump contest was covered quite regularly. And I’m pretty sure that I can recall Sottish caber-tossing.

But better-known sports were also featured, and made for many unforgettable moments. For example, I am proud to say that I can remember the unlucky Slovene ski jumper (whose name was Vinko Bogataj) taking his tumble on a 1970 episode of WWoS. When it was later integrated into the show’s intro, I had to agree with ABC that the moment pretty well summed up the agony of defeat. Bogataj suffered only a concussion, amazingly enough.

Bowling was so popular that ABC began a 35-year tradition of featuring professional competitions hosted by Chris Schenkel in that same year of 1961.

And of course, Muhammad Ali’s career might not have been the same without the Howard Cosell-announced matches that were part of the Wide World of Sports tradition.

Cable TV doomed the concept of a ninety-minute broadcast network show about every sort of sport under the sun. You still hear the title ABC’s Wide World of Sports applied to a Saturday afternoon special from time to time, but the dominating force that was once the show is long gone.

But as long as there is a single Boomer left on the planet, that unforgettable opening sequence will continue to exist in memory.

Roller Derby!

It wasn’t unusual for a Boomer kid of the 50’s or 60’s to have a Saturday or Sunday afternoon ritual: strolling through the living room to find dad glued to the screen while skaters went round and round a circular track whilst beating the crap out of each other.

Such was roller derby, a sport which captivated the nation over a time period of about forty years.

It all began during the Great Depression. Film publicist Leo “Bromo” Seltzer was struggling, along with the rest of the nation. He saw the success of dance marathons, and decided to cash in on the fad with a twist: he would sponsor similar marathons, only with everyone on roller skates. Sometimes, this would amount to a large number of skaters on a circular or oval track of limited size. It was inevitable that tired skaters, who might have been at it for days, would occasionally get into massive pileups.

Writer Damon Runyan saw potential for the sport cashing in on its potential violent side, and convinced Seltzer to sponsor an “all-out” contest, in which elbowing, punching, and whip-cracking were encouraged.

The public loved it, and roller derby was born. Male and female teams were organized, and the rules were the same for all, a unique situation in the world of spectator sports.

Roller derby went on the road shortly after, with teams traveling all over the country to give their exhibitions. There would always be a “home” team, playing a team from Chicago or New York, in each venue. The public loved it, and demanded more.

A tragic fiery bus crash in 1937 nearly put an early stop to roller derby. 19 or 20 people died (sources vary), and Seltzer had to scramble to hire more skaters. The number “1” was permanently retired in honor of those who lost their lives that day.

By the start of WWII, roller derby was hotter than ever. An estimated 50 million spectators attended matches in 1940. Some cities had their own permanent teams. However, the beginning of the war caused this sport, as in the case of many others, to virtually stop, while its participants enlisted in the armed forces.

After the war, Seltzer wasted no time in getting the sport on television. Roller derby had been broadcast on the radio prior to the war, and its hard-hitting action was a natural for TV. In 1948, CBS broadcast roller derby four nights per week. Many a bar had a TV, so its popularity soared ever higher, even though TV’s in general were still uncommon.

As the 50’s began, Seltzer found himself with some competition. International Roller Speedway was organized, and they practiced a game that varied just a bit from that of Seltzer’s Roller Derby organization. The sport featured a famous spunky participant named Eddie Cazar, whose life story was featured in a Mickey Rooney film of 1950, The Fireball.

Seltzer was still making lots of money, but was getting tired of the headaches of the day-to-day management of affairs, so in 1958, he turned over the reins of the business to his son. By 1961, the IRS (not THAT IRS, unfortunately 😉 had folded, but another rival, Roller Games, had arisen.

Seltzer had roller derby all over the airwaves during the 60’s and early 70’s. In 1972, Raquel Welch starred in Kansas City Bomber, a huge success for the sport. However, the faltering economy, high overhead, and the fuel crisis spawned by the Arab Oil Embargo caused Seltzer to fold things up. Roller Games lasted two more years, when it, too, closed up shop.

Nowadays, roller derby is still around. The Bay City Bombers, the sport’s most recognizable team, still exist, and play exhibition matches. From 1997 to 2001, Rollerjam appeared on TNN. And this year, interest in the sport may once again be spawned by Hollywood. Whip It, produced by Drew Barrymore, is scheduled for a fall release.

So here’s to one of the funnest, funkiest sports in history, one which greatly entertained us, our fathers, and likely our grandfathers during the decades before and after WWII, before the 1970’s economy put it on an extended leave of absence.

Local Wrestling Shows on TV

It all started with a fellow by the name of George Wagner. Wagner was a short-statured high school wrestling champion who tried to make it as a professional wrestler. The sport was not exactly a raging success. Opponents would frequently lock each other up in clinches that kept them virtually motionless for minutes at a time.

Wagner decided to take a walk on the wild side. He grew his hair long, dyed it platinum blond, started using a valet to assist him in his lengthy strolls to the ring, accompanied by the playing of Pomp and Circumstance. His valet would spray his corner (and sometimes his opponent) with disinfectant and perfume. Eventually, the match would ensue. Gorgeous George, as he was now known, would blatantly cheat and gain victory.

Half of the crowd hated his guts. The other half loved him. They all ponied up bucks for tickets. Television, a new medium in the 1940’s, started showing his antics. Professional wrestling, as we know it, was born.

By the 1960’s, there were lots of local wrestling associations all over the US. Many of them had local television shows that would show matches that were intended to draw the audience into showing up for a live show later.

These matches included some home-grown wrestlers who made a few bucks getting “whipped” by “legitimate” stars who competed for local and national titles.

In my area, the contenders included Cowboy Bill Watts and Wahoo McDaniel, who were OU football stars and who also played in the NFL. They wrestled for Jim Crockett Productions, which ran many of the local wrestling outfits.

Also-rans I recall included Apache Gringo, who wore 74 on his shirt to remind him of what year it was. Another was Grizzly Smith, a huge fellow who wrestled in overalls. And of course, there were many villains who hid behind masks.

I loved how the old ladies, cigarettes in corners of mouths, would work themselves into rages at the antics of the combatants. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to pick up her metal folding chair and go after one of them.

Today, wrestling is BIG business. But I have fond memories of those working stiffs who would take dives for the champs just in time for the show to end on time. Here’s to Saturday afternoons watching Apache Gringo.

A Little Town Called Mayberry

Some of our memories as Boomers are so universal that we take them for granted. Practically all of us had TV’s in our households, or if not, we still had regular access to them. And the odds are overwhelming that 99.99% of us are familiar with a little town in North Carolina called Mayberry.

The Andy Griffith Show was a spinoff of The Danny Thomas Show. On February 15, 1960, an episode aired where Danny was detained by a small-town sheriff for running a stop sign. Outraged at the size of the fine, Thomas elected to sit in jail rather than pay. While in the hoosegow, he observed Sheriff Taylor’s kindly ways in dealing with Opie, his son, Otis, the town drunk (played by Frank Cady, who would go on to star as Mr. Drucker in multiple TV series), and Henrietta Perkins, played by Francis Bavier. Yes, the character names and actors were familiar, but their roles were not yet established as we know them.

The episode was a hit, and plans were made to launch a series that fall based on Mayberry’s day-to-day small-town activities. Andy Griffith was a hit from the word go, and never fell below #7 on the Nielsen ratings for its entire eight-year run.

An actor named Don Knotts watched the Danny Thomas episode and called his friend Andy Griffith when he got word that a new series was in the works. He suggested that Sheriff Taylor would need a deputy, and Griffith agreed.

Good call.

Thus, the opening episode featured Deputy Barney Fife, cousin to Andy. The family relationship was mentioned again in the second episode, then never brought up again.

The show featured a host of unforgettable characters, each with their own idiosyncrasies. Francis Bavier ended up cast as Aunt Bee, of course. There was Gomer Pyle, the simple-minded but lovable gas station attendant. Floyd the barber had many a good story, but would frequently get mixed up in the midst of telling them. Otis the town drunk knew where the keys to his cell were hanging, so he could let himself in and out as needed. Ernest T. Bass was an antisocial who delighted in throwing rocks. The Darling clan was always in trouble for moonshine, but they played some soulful bluegrass during their periods of detainment.

The public fell in love with the show at first site, but the critics? Not so much. It was ridiculed as “corn-pone humor,” an initial source of discouragement to Griffith. The reviews were soon forgotten as the show streaked towards the top in popularity, finishing its first season at #4.

The writers focused on milking the eccentricities of the characters, and the result was brilliant episode after brilliant episode. Barney became well identified as being gung-ho, courageous to a fault, and too quick on the trigger, both figuratively and literally. His idea of stopping crime?Nip it in the bud! It was great stuff when he would emerge from romantic encounters with Thelma Lou with his hair pointing every which way. Indeed, there was enough potential with Deputy Fife that he might have spawned his own spinoff.

Fortunately, that never happened. The chemistry between Taylor and Fife was simply perfect, and many have sought to duplicate it in subsequent sitcoms with little success.

Season six saw some dramatic changes. First off, the show went from black and white to color. Second, Don Knotts left the series, replaced by comedian Jack Burns as Warren Ferguson. Third, many of the initial writers left, and were replaced by a crew who took the show in a different direction.

While the ratings remained sky-high, in retrospect, most agree that it all amounted to an overall downhill turn for the series.

While slapstick was the rule in the B&W days, now, the jokes became fewer and farther between. As I recall, most episodes involved someone getting their feelings hurt. Sheriff Taylor became more of an urbane, sophisticated individual who would wisely direct who should apologize to whom. It wasn’t as much fun.

Thus, the majority agreed at jumptheshark.com that going from black and white to color was the moment that The Andy Griffith Show ceased to matter.

On a sad side note, isn’t it a shame that the great site that was Jump the Shark so horribly jumped its own shark when bought out by TV Guide?

However, Andy Griffith aired its final 1968 episode while sitting alone atop the Nielsen heap.

Many cast members went on to appear in Mayberry RFD, a regrettable follow-up which nonetheless survived until CBS’s 1971 Great Rural Purge.

It’s interesting to me that sitcoms continue to push the envelope of what’s allowed for broadcast television, daring more and more with suggestiveness, language, and controversy in an effort to capture the attention of audiences. Perhaps creative minds should look at the timeless success of the first five seasons of The Andy Griffith Show, now more popular than ever. The newest generations relate just as well to the little town of Mayberry as we Boomers do.

Food for thought?

Who Can Turn the World on With Her Smile?

There probably aren’t very many Boomer males who haven’t been in love with the beautiful Mary Tyler Moore. My older brothers fell for her as Laura Petrie. I was just a kid then, so I fell for Mary Richards when I was a teenager. And even today, she has aged gracefully, maintaining a timeless beauty that refuses to go away.

Mary herself is not a Boomer. She was born in 1936. But her beautiful smile and the popularity of her TV shows makes her a Boomer memory for sure.

There are many things I love about this talented actress. First of all, when she was born, she was named Mary Tyler Moore. I have always appreciated artists, especially actors and actresses, who felt comfortable keeping their own name. However, I DO understand why John Wayne decided not to go with Marion Morrison. 😉

Mary’s first moment on TV, which has been preserved, can be seen here. It was a Hotpoint appliance commercial for the Ozzie and Harriet Show. It caught the public’s attention, and Mary was soon a regular guest star on shows like 77 Sunset Strip, Wanted: Dead or Alive, and Hawaiian Eye. She auditioned for the part of Danny Thomas’s daughter on make Room for Daddy, but Danny himself vetoed her, saying her little pixie nose could never let her pass for his daughter.

In 1961, Carl Reiner envisioned a show about his misadventures writing for Sid Caesar’s Your Show of Shows, and cast Dick Van Dyke as himself and Mary as Rob’s understanding bride, Laura.

Dick was a good looking comedic genius who brought in the female viewers. Mary would have brought in the male demographic by being as funny as Adlai Stevenson, but it turned out she was a comedic genius herself. Double bonus.

Carl Reiner envisioned a series that would run for five years, then the plug would be pulled. And that’s exactly what happened. The show was an incredible hit, and ended of its own accord after 158 wildly successful episodes. Its legacy is historically cemented in place by the fact that it was listed as “never jumped” at jumptheshark.com (before they opened the floodgates and let a bunch of mediocrities in).

What would be next for the lovely Ms. Moore? It would be 1970, with the debut of The Mary Tyler Moore Show.

The show was perfect for the era. Women’s Lib was in full force, and a show about a gal who breaks off a bad relationship and moves to Minneapolis to start over was certain to be a hit with good writing and good acting. Once again, it scored big in both areas. Besides Mary, the show included a mixture of talents like Ed Asner, Valerie Harper, Betty White, Cloris Leachman, Gavin McCleod, and John Amos.

While Gloria Steinem was in full activist mode, Mary Richards chose to establish her independence with baby steps. The result was one of the most popular and successful sitcoms in history, even in the opinion of this writer, overshadowing the Dick Van Dyke show itself.

One of the single most hilarious moment on the show was when Chuckles the Clown met his demise. The funeral scene has to be seen to be believed. And thanks to YouTube, you can see it here.

Mary knows how to take her leave, and she took the show out on top in 1977, shortly before I graduated from high school. She proceeded into movies, playing a mother with issues in Robert Redford’s directorial debut Ordinary People in 1980. She was nominated for an Academy Award, but fell short of winning it. The dark, cold character she played so brilliantly was certainly not Mary Richards or Laura Petrie. Its shock value may well have hurt her chances.

As I mentioned before, Mary has slid very gracefully into her golden years. She is an outspoken advocate of causes she supports, and still picks up an occasional acting gig (HER choice). She is also an essential part of Boomer memories, particularly for the guys who sought her qualities in the ladies they pursued.

When the Seven Deadly Words Were Really Deadly

The year was 1972. George Carlin, brilliant comedian best known at the time for his portrayal of the “Hippy Dippy Weatherman” on Johnny Carson and Flip Wilson Show appearances, released an album called Class Clown. The album, which appeared without parental advisory labels way back then, contained a magnificent, highly offensive routine called “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television.”

The Seven Words, which you can view here in all their profane glory, exemplified Carlin’s rapier-sharp intelligence when it came to deducing how society works. Clark Gable used what was then known as “the D word” way back in 1939 in Gone With the Wind, and from then until 1972, many formerly taboo words had become acceptable for broadcast television.

But there was no doubt about it: in 1972, there was NO WAY you would hear any of Carlin’s Deadly Seven on broadcast television.

How times have changed.

Carlin, who taped the album in Santa Monica, California, was arrested later that year in more conservative Milwaukee for performing the sketch onstage. The charge? Violating obscenity laws. It was tossed by a judge soon afterwards, but the bust still earned the comedian a great deal of infamy that only enhanced his rebellious reputation.

What would happen to him today in Milwaukee? Well, obviously no charges would be filed, but equally obviously, nobody would bat an eye. You hear worse than that at a hip-hop concert. That is one of the differences, for better or worse, between the world we Boomers live in now and the one that we grew up in.

The Deadly Seven soon began becoming obsolete shortly after Class Clown’s release. One of the first to fall was the “S word.” It was frequently heard at sporting events. The dreaded “F word” also was picked up by parabolic microphones on the sidelines of football games and such. And Carlin pleaded the case that the “T word” didn’t even belong on the list. Well, it too was heard on many a live broadcast.

But the list came crashing down for me in 1982, when a local station, KTLA I believe, in Los Angeles aired the uncut version of The Deer Hunter. At each commercial break, the audience was warned that what they were seeing was the original R-rated movie.

I don’t know how they managed to pull it off without getting nailed by the FCC, but I remember pulling it in on a pair of rabbit ears over the airwaves. And, if I recall correctly, that film contained every single one of Carlin’s Deadly Seven. Repeatedly.

Nowadays, even the cleaned-up A&E version of The Sopranos is liberally sprinkled with “S words.” SNL is known for regularly receiving FCC wrist-slaps for “F-bombs.” And let’s face it, an episode of Deadliest Catch, while technically “bleeped,” leaves very little to the imagination as to what “French” is being spoken.

But once upon a time, George Carlin nailed the state of television censorship with his unforgettable Seven Deadly Words. Ironically, while coming up with seven words too obscene to say on TV is quite impossible today, there are probably hundreds of words too Politically Incorrect to ever make the airwaves. And lovable Otis the drunk on Andy Griffith, or Foster Brooks at the Dean Martin Roasts? Horrors! That could never happen today! Our village-raised children should never see such excesses! Why, the next thing you know, they would be too upset to listen to Akon on their iPods!

To repeat myself yet again, what a long, strange trip it’s been, being a Boomer.

When Lucy Was on Television

We Boomer kids had a few constants in our lives growing up, some good, some bad. There would be coverage of the Vietnam War every night on the news. Dad would install a new license plate on the car every January. And Lucille Ball would have a hit television show.

Lucy was best known, of course, as Lucy Ricardo, beloved bride of Ricky, in a show that is ranked as the most popular ever by many. I Love Lucy ran for seven seasons beginning in 1951, and the duo went three more years on The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour. And just because you were too young to catch it the first time didn’t mean you had to miss it. The first series to be filmed in the studio, instead of being broadcast live, Desi and Lucy shrewdly gained all rights to the show after production ceased, meaning they made untold millions licensing it for syndication.

It’s nice when the artists win, instead of the executives.

Anyhow, it is unlikely that a single Boomer in the US has never seen an episode of I Love Lucy. To this day, it remains of of the most popular syndicated shows on television.

But just because I Love Lucy sailed off into the prime time sunset didn’t mean Lucille Ball was done with television. Far from it.

In 1962, Lucy, now amicably divorced from Desi, began starring in The Lucy Show. It was a perennial ratings giant for CBS, and starred Lucy’s buddies Vivian Vance and Gale Gordon, who played the constantly angry Mr. Mooney. Gordon was the first pick to play Fred Mertz on I Love Lucy, but was committed to another series (Our Miss Brooks) at the time. However, he did make some guest appearances. When Lucy was offered her new show, Gordon was immediately selected to play the part of Banker Mr. Mooney.

Wouldn’t you know it, he was committed yet again to another series, this time playing Mr. Wilson on Dennis the Menace. But by the show’s second year, he was available, and he replaced a previous banker character played by Charles Lane.

Lucy’s own Desilu Studios produced the show, so Lucy was the show’s boss. When she sold out to Gulf and Western Industries in 1967, she decided she didn’t want to work on a show over which she no longer had full creative control. So The Lucy Show disappeared, to be immediately replaced by Here’s Lucy.

Here’s Lucy starred Gordon, Mary Jane Croft (who had assumed the role of a best friend for Lucy after Vivian Vance’s 1965 departure), and, of course, Lucy herself.

The show featured all new characters, but the audience had a hard time telling them from the former ones. They had different names, but as far as were concerned, it was still Mrs. Carmichael and Mr, Mooney. And Lucy, of course, still called the shots.

Here’s Lucy was as popular as the previous show, consistently landing great ratings until 1974, when its popularity sagged just a bit. At this point, what happened is not exactly clear. Either Lucy herself declared that a great show had run its course, or CBS pulled the plug on the last old-style comedy of the 60’s to enhance its reputation of taking bold new moves with shows like All in the Family. Either way, it was still in the Top Thirty when it was canceled.

So for the first time in memory, Lucy was not on television every week.

Lucy and Gale Gordon tried a 1986 comeback, Life with Lucy, but by then the humor formula of the old shows no longer worked. I recall it having the same premise as her two previous shows, just with everyone having gotten a lot older. I think it would have been a success had it been released in the 60’s. Two short months after its debut, it was gone.

Nowadays, the very concept of the sitcom has been largely shove aside. Long-running shows like Everybody Loves Raymond, The King of Queens, and Friends are quite rare. Something called reality TV has unfortunately proven popular, with numerous clones of the (IMHO) disturbing genre getting high ratings.

Ah, for a simpler day, when you could count on Lucy and Mr. Mooney to be on TV reliably every week.

Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color

Sunday nights were the must-see-TV of the 60’s. Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, Sullivan, Bonanza, and of course, Disney were its residents.

The Disney show started out as Disneyland on ABC in 1954. It was a hit, its biggest coup of that decade being the Davey Crockett series over three nights. Coonskin caps were the immediate rage in the wake of the hugely successful presentation.

In 1961, Disney hopped networks. It had nothing to do with ratings or cancellation. Instead, it jumped to NBC because the network was widely telecast in color. The show was rechristened Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color.

I count myself as fortunate to remember Walt Disney himself introducing the night’s episodes in a folksy, downhome manner. No wonder kids loved him. I felt like he was my grandpa.

Walt died in 1966, and the intro scenes were dropped. Good move. Nobody could hold a candle to the man himself.

The show opened to a musical accompaniment that I can still recall, in large part. And it looked so good on our brand new color TV.

The show featured movies (cut into one-hour chunks), nature-based-films, and various shorts in the Disney vault. The ultimate was when they would show cartoons. Man, I would get into a state of ecstasy when Sunday afternoon commercials would announce a toon on Disney that night. They would also announce next week’s show at the end of the episode, so sometimes the anticipation would last an entire week.

Dad would always act like we would have to switch the channel in such a case, but he never did. I think the old Norwegian had a sense of humor buried deep in his psyche.

Sunday nights no longer hold the same mystique over me, or the rest of the world. In fact, the various cable channels continue to make inroads on the Big Three networks (actually four, including Fox) so that the very concept of who’s number one is different now than it used to be.

But in the 60’s, Sunday night was the biggest show on television. And Walt Disney ruled it.