Category: TV

In the late 1950’s, a duo of brothers were making the scene in bohemian clubs and coffee houses in New York with a funny musical act. Eventually, they attracted the attention of TV talent scouts. Appearances on Hootenanny, as well as variety shows presented by Sullivan, Bing Crosby, Steve Allen, and Andy Williams made them household names.

Dick was the “serious” one, and Tom was the dork. That was their act, one that played the same through a sitcom (Tom was a dorky angel) and a series of variety shows.

In 1967, CBS launched The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. It wasn’t long before they wished they hadn’t.

What was lacking in their sitcom was any political views. These two folk musicians had plenty to say once they were thrust into a comedy-variety show format. And say it they did. And a half.

The Vietnam War was starting to get very unpopular with the nation’s youth. And Tom and Dick, to CBS’s chagrin, became the voice of that dissatisfied youth.

Guest stars included fellow folk singers like Joan Baez, Pete Seeger, rock acts like Jefferson Airplane, The Doors, and The Who. Interestingly, guests showed up who would prove pleasing to an older generation, as well. Jimmy Durante and Kate Smith come to mind.

Pat Paulsen would throw a diatribe at LBJ that was so whacked out that it should have never been taken seriously, but it was. Not by Johnson, who would write a nice letter to the duo after the show’s cancellation saying he was never offended by the banter. But the rumors run rampant that Richard Nixon would later pressure CBS to get the show off the air so he wouldn’t have to put up with the criticism.

Years before SNL, humorous references were made to smoking pot. They also poked fun at The Establishment, the military, and the police. This certainly rankled the CBS execs. Eventually, they demanded a tape of each episode be presented to them in time for their “editing.” Tommy later claimed that they censored 75% of their episodes.

The censor’s axe got, among many others, these incidences: A 1968 Mother’s day message that ended with the words “Please talk peace.” Harry Belafonte singing before a backdrop of footage from the 1968 Democratic National Convention unrest. Joan Baez’s spoken introduction to a song where she mentions her draft-evading husband David’s being in prison. And of course, the most notorious: Pete Seeger’s protest song Waist Deep in the Big Muddy.

In 1969, the BIG axe fell. CBS claimed that they didn’t receive a tape of the season’s final show for their “approval” and prevented it from being shown. They also canceled the well-ranked show shortly afterward.

What’s hilarious is what slipped PAST the censors. Goldie O’Keefe’s weekly “Share a Little Tea with Goldie” was never assumed to be referring to a slang term for marijuana. Not even her opening “Hi! and glad of it!” rang a bell.

The Smothers filed a lawsuit against CBS over censorship that they lost. Needless to say, they never worked for them again. Here’s hoping someday those few episodes of one wild and crazy show will be released on DVD.

Most everyone, Boomer or not, can recall the first time they fell in love. I certainly do.

I was five years old, and watching the Mickey Mouse Show when Annette (I didn’t know her last name) appeared on our black-and-white television. What a beautiful young lady.

The Mickey Mouse Show is a strong memory in the minds of a wide range of Boomers. That’s because it was rerun after its initial life, so youngsters like myself who missed its original 1955-59 run could enjoy it after school like their older brothers and sisters did.

Walt Disney, who had already scored big in movies and amusement parks (well, just one amusement park in those days), proved to be a television genius as well. His Sunday night show, whose name kept changing, was a strong, long-lived hit. His second shot at a series was this one. And its immortality is its legacy, even though the show itself ran a mere three years. A fourth season was produced by re-airing earlier episodes.

Walt Disney insisted the Mouseketeers be regular kids, not actors. And they were, when they were discovered by scouts who combed schools looking for kids who had magnetism and talent. Of course, many of the Mouseketeers went on to bigger and better things afterwards. But when they first appeared on TV, they were unknowns.

The show was classic low-budget genius. Host Jimmie Dodd was asked to write a theme song. He penned the immortal “M-i-c! k-e-y! m-o-u-s-e!” Roy Williams, promoted from staff artist to costar, was asked to come up with clever headwear. He recalled an old Mickey Mouse cartoon where Mickey doffed his ears and hair like a fedora. The effect was recreated into one of the most purchased novelty hats in history.

And like many low budget efforts, it was absolutely brilliant. The show was an excellent mix of personalities. The writing was above par. And so many of its routines were burned indelibly into our young minds!

Who can forget the roll call? Talent Round-Up? Circus Day? The serials?

The show was canceled after four short years. One account has Walt Disney protesting ABC’s wanting to cut show time to add commercial slots. Another has the show’s high costs simply making it unprofitable. High costs? The castmembers did creative work too, ferpetesake!

Anyhow, an unfriendly parting of ways took place. Disney sued ABC and won, but also lost the rights to shop the show around to other networks.

Many years later, Disney and ABC are both fabulously wealthy. The Mickey Mouse Club was recreated multiple times. For better or worse, new Mouseketeer stars emerged, notably Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, and Christine Aguilera.

But we Boomers remember the original show. And we all know it was the best one. After all, it was the one that featured (sigh) Annette. And one last memory: Jiminy Cricket taught me how to spell encyclopedia and thereby blow away my first grade teacher. Priceless.

As I pen this, word has just been released that Suzanne Pleshette has just succumbed to lung cancer.

Ms. Pleshette was just a few days short of her 71st birthday. And she will always be a treasured memory of Boomers who enjoyed her in TV and movies (and Broadway, for a few of us).

Suzanne came by life on the stage naturally. Her mother was a dancer and her father managed the Paramount Theater in New York. She was enrolled at the city’s famous High School of Performing Arts and spent time in and out of college after graduating while looking for acting gigs.

She was soon on stage while attending the Neighborhood Playhouse School of Theatre, and ended up getting some minor Broadway roles.

Jerry Lewis got wind of her acting prowess on the stage and arranged her film debut in his 1968 film The Geisha Boy.

Suzanne loved the stage, though, and returned to Broadway to several costarring roles. But her talent couldn’t be contained, and she soon had TV appearances in shows like Have Gun Will Travel, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, and Dr. Kildare.

But her stage career was blossoming as well, and she eventually replaced Anne Bancroft in the long running The Miracle Worker.

But finally, TV and the movies won out. While she never hit a huge starring role on film, she had memorable roles, including the schoolteacher in The Birds. I remember a hilarious late 1970’s flick called Hot Stuff where she played alongside Dom De Luise. My favorite scene was when she told the construction worker where he could go to the bathroom seeing that his porta-potty had just been destroyed.

Her frequent TV appearances finally led to a costarring role on the Bob Newhart Show in 1972. The show, which held the powerhouse position of following the Mary Tyler Moore Show, was a Saturday night smash. Pleshette played Bob’s wife Emily, the perfect sarcastic counterpart to Bob Hartley’s character.

Good writing and chemistry blessed the show, and it ran for five years, continuing in syndication to this day. And that’s why the closing episode of Newhart, Bob’s next successful comedy, simply was such a hoot.

Here it is, quoted from Wikipedia:

…a light is turned on, and viewers see Newhart in bed, saying “Honey, you won’t believe the dream I just had.” Another light comes on, revealing not Dick Loudon’s wife Joanna, but Bob Hartley’s wife Emily (Suzanne Pleshette). The bedroom is a recreation from The Bob Newhart Show, and – in a parody of a 1980s television vogue – the entire Newhart series is revealed to have been a dream in the mind of Newhart’s 1970s character. Bob tells Emily that in the dream, he lived in a weird Vermont town surrounded by strange people: a snobbish maid and her alliterative husband, a dense handyman, and three eccentric woodsmen, two of whom were mute.When he reveals that he was married to a beautiful blonde in the dream, an annoyed Emily tells Bob to go back to sleep and flicks off the light on her side of the bedroom. Reviving a technique from The Bob Newhart Show, in which one of the Hartleys incredulously flicks back on a bedside light and restarts the conversation, Emily turns her light back on and inquires, “What do you mean, ‘beautiful blonde?!’ Bob tells her to go back to sleep, commenting, “You should wear more sweaters,” something Joanna was noted for. The scene ends to the strains of the old Bob Newhart Show theme song (although this was removed for syndicated reruns).

Hilarious stuff. Even better, Suzanne ended up marrying Newhart’s favorite costar Tom Poston in 2000, and they stayed happily married until his untimely death in 2007.

Suzanne Pleshette will be missed my many, but especially us Baby Boomers who grew up with her on TV or in the movies.

Growing up Boomers, there were familiar faces on TV that kept showing up time after time that were as comfortable as a well-worn pair of slippers. They would move from series to series, and we sort of took it for granted that we would always have them.

Sadly, that’s not the case. One performer who left us in 2000 is dearly missed by me, and after the memory bump that this site provides, I suspect by you as well.

Stephen Valentine Patrick William Allen was born in 1921 in NYC to a pair of vaudeville performers. Yes, show business was in his blood. His father died when Steve was a toddler, and his mother largely left it up to her family to raise him in the gritty south side of Chicago.

Steve sought a career in radio, and early in the 1940’s, he landed his first gig at station KOY in Phoenix. When WWII started, he enlisted and trained as an infantryman. He never was shipped overseas, though, and returned to radio when the war was over. he became an announcer for LA’s KAFC, then in 1946 began hosting a five-nights-per-week comedy show.

This led into a one-hour late night series that became a smash hit. Audiences were SRO, and one night, guest Doris Day failed to show. Allen tried something risky, moving into the audience with a microphone to do some ad-libbing. He was a natural at it, and it became a regular part of his performances.

The successful local show went national in 1950, and Allen began a 50-year-run of being a very recognizable and well-loved celebrity.

That same year, CBS gave Allen a daily half-hour TV variety show. It really didn’t catch on, and it was canceled in 1952.

Shortly afterwards, he was called upon to guest host Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts. He performed a live commercial bizarrely, preparing Lipton tea and Campbell’s soup and pouring both into Godfrey’s ukulele. The audience roared, and Allen had found his niche as a slightly atilt highly intellectual entertainer.

He was a regular face on What’s My Line (it was him who coined the phrase “Is it bigger than a breadbox?”), and in 1954, he was offered a job hosting a new NBC series: The Tonight Show.

He made the show a hit, and continued to host it three nights a week when he was offered a Sunday night primetime variety vehicle that was to compete with Sullivan.

A lot of folks were unaware that Allen had this gig, and just how powerful it was. Always overshadowed by the venerable Irishman’s offering, Allen nonetheless showed America a great time, and some amazing acts. For example, he had Elvis on before Sullivan did!

The show did as well as could be expected against CBS’s juggernaut. It help launch the careers of Johnny Carson, Tom Poston, Bill Dana, Don Knotts, and a number of other frequent appearers. He also had an unconventional author on once by the name of Jack Kerouac. Another of his most memorable moments was explaining the lyrics to the song “Be-Bop-a-Lu-La.”

After the Sunday evening show’s cancellation, Allen began hosting a late-night syndicated rehash of The Tonight Show. The show lasted from 1962-64, and featured an appearance by Frank Zappa, who played a tune on a bicycle. He also had Bob Dylan on in 1964. The Generation Gapwas quite in evidence as Allen struggled to get Dylan to communicate in an interview. He made it clear that he was a bit bewildered that the poet had reached America’s youth, but he respected and admired the fact that he did.

Allen went on to host a number of brilliant, short-lived series. In 1967, he had a summer show, The Steve Allen Comedy Hour, which launched the careers of Rob Reiner, John Byner, Richard Dreyfuss, and Ruth Buzzi, who would be on NBC’s Laugh-In later that year.

In the late 60’s, he returned to a syndicated late-night show that featured him doing some Lettermanesque stunts, including becoming a human hood ornament, jumping into huge containers of sticky foods, and once being copiously covered with dog food, and then allowing hungry canines to chow down from himself on camera.

In 1977, he began a series for PBS called Meeting of Minds, in which he put famous historical characters together for discussions of all sorts of matters. It was weird, fascinating stuff, which frequently caused me to tune to the local educational channel.

Allen had that rarest of gifts, a long-lasting Hollywood marriage, to actress Jayne Meadows. She would appear on each episode of the show. One memorable performance was as Catherine the Great, and how she bemoaned the fact that she had such lousy luck in bed. I guess her name might have been a bit too intimidating for her suitors?

Meeting of Minds ran for four seasons, but only a total of eighteen episodes were filmed. If you can find them on DVD, give them a look. They are truly timeless.

This could go on forever, so I must cut things a bit short. Allen was also a prolific songwriter, his most famous tune was “This Could be the Start of Something Big.” He was a gifted musician whose piano playing was legendary. He also wrote over 50 books. One of his specialties was debunking false truths.

On October 30, 2000, he was involved in a minor fender-bender in southern California. He went on to his son’s home, helped his grandchildren carve pumpkins, recorded a radio tribute to his friend, satirist Paul Krassner, and lay down for a nap.

He never woke up. The accident caused bleeding in his chest, and blood filled his pericardium and choked off his heart.

I miss Steverino. He never pretended to understand younger generations, but he respected them, and felt that they should laugh at themselves, just like everyone else ought to. He strongly molded modern-day talk-variety shows with his pioneering use of man-on-the-street interviews, his live bantering and ad-libbing with audience members, and his physical comedy.

Steve Allen’s 1921 birth truly was the start of something big.

On September 9, 1967, a one-time special was aired. It received great ratings, so NBC decided to make it a regular series. It debuted on January 22, 1968, and was a Monday night staple for five years.

It was a perfect example of the right thing at the right time. There was a tremendous amount of tension during those days, with more to come. 1968 would prove to be a year marked by assassination. Vietnam was requiring the lives of more and more young men. The Civil Rights movement was still being met with violent resistance. Mandatory busing of students to force integration was as welcome as a fart in an elevator.

America needed to laugh! And Laugh-In proved to be the ideal solution. It was #1 on the Nielsens for its first two years.

The fact is that the show was brilliance in writing and performance. Behind the scenes, Lorne Michaels and a host of other eventual contributors to Saturday Night Live put together material that was biting, timely, and below the censors’ radar screens.

But the performers were what the public saw, and they saw one of the most talented groups of comedians and comediennes ever gathered in one TV show.

Routines included Arte Johnson’s German soldier peering out from behind the foliage (“Verrrry interesting . . . but shtupid!”); the same performer riding his tricycle in a yellow raincoat, hitting obstacles, and falling down; and playing dirty old man Tyrone, who would be inevitably beaten into submission by Ruth Buzzi’s Gladys Ormphby each time they met.

Henry Gibson would recite a silly poem while holding a huge artificial flower. He also played a coffee-sipping preacher at the cocktail party that aired each episode.

Judy Carne played the sock it to me girl who would be drenched with a bucket of water whenever she was tricked into uttering the famous line. She also played the Judy doll who would clobber any guy who touched her.

Lily Tomlin played snorting Ernestine the operator; Edith Ann, a little girl who sat in a huge chair and signed off with “and that’s the truth” (followed by a rude farting sound from her mouth); and Mrs. Earbore, who would lecture the world on being tasteful, then spread her legs wide apart as she stood up.

The show featured many others, but I’m, getting tired of writing ;-).

Judy Carne was the first to move on, and as others followed, the show’s popularity began to slip. By 1973, it was finished.

The stars went on to bigger things, in many cases. Goldie Hawn, who acted like a vacuum-head on the show, proved herself to be a savvy, Oscar winning actress who even accomplished that rarest of Hollywood feats: a long-lasting marriage to fellow actor Kurt Russell. Lily Tomlin likewise had a successful film career. Others found success in TV.

The show had repeated skits that were eagerly anticipated by audiences. The Flying Fickle Finger of Fate would be given for some dubious achievement in the news. It was later replaced by the Whoopie Award. It’s a mod, mod world, with Goldie dancing in a bikini with wisecrack statements written all over her, aired each episode. Each show would close with cast members popping open doors in a brightly colored wall and spouting bad jokes while the credits rolled.

We also have several additions to our lingo thanks to Laugh-In. You bet your sweet bippy, sock it to me (Nixon may well have won the 1968 election by spouting the line on Laugh-In. Hubert Humphrey refused to go on the show), look THAT up in your Funk and Wagnall’s, etc.

I could probably write a book about the show. This has barely given it justice, especially in light of those first two incredible seasons, when the original cast was still together.

Okay, I’m done. Say goodnight, Dick.