Category: TV

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I Remember JFK did an article on Dragnet back in 2007, but it really didn’t pay enough homage to the man behind the show, Jack Webb. With that, today’s offering will attempt to give credit where credit is due, to the creative genius that accompanied one of the most familiar faces that we Boomers grew up with.

Jack Webb had an oft-imitated style of his own on the screen, one that made for great fodder for comedians, school playground thespians, and B-movie method actors. But perhaps his greatest talent lie in giving us some unforgettable television moments from shows that he created and/or produced.

Webb’s first shot at creating a show without appearing onscreen was a home run to deep center. Adam-12 debuted in 1968, and enjoyed a seven-year run. The pilot revealed that officer Pete Malloy (Martin Milner, who had previously toured the country in a Vette in Route 66) was about to quit the force three weeks after losing his partner to a crook with a gun. Young, naive rookie Jim Reed was assigned to the depressed Malloy for a one-night deal, and by morning, the veteran decides to stick around and show the plebe how to survive. Thus began a show which would be a part of Boomer kids’ lives. It started out on a Saturday night, finished up on a Wednesday. But for the life of me, I can’t remember what night I watched it on growing up. Saturday, I believe. Any help from you readers?

Malloy was no-nonsense, by the book (except when he needed to not be by the book), and constantly reminded the greenhorn that it was life or death out there. In other words, he was Jack Webb. Jack Webb would thus “appear” in practically all of the shows that he would produce afterwards, you just had to look for him in a more sublime game of “Spot Hitch” (played every time a Hitchcock movie was on the screen).

The show strove for realism, right down to Shaaron Claridge. Hers was the voice that would come over the radio announcing “One adam twelve, one adam twelve, respond to a 211 in progress,” that of a real-life LAPD dispatcher. She even appeared personally in one episode, assisting Reed in running the plates of the next crook to be busted by the dynamic duo.

Malloy’s specialty was the Death Glare, given to Reed when the lighthearted newb would tread on sacred ground and offend the serious partner’s sensibilities. Example:

Malloy: You know what this is?
Reed: (smiling) Yes sir, it’s a police car.
Malloy: This black and white patrol car has an overhead valve V8 engine. It develops 325 horsepower at 4800 RPM’s. It accelerates from 0 to 60 in seven seconds; it has a top speed of 120 miles an hour. It’s equipped with a multi-channeled DFE radio and an electronic siren capable of admitting three variables: wail, yelp, and alert. It also serves as an outside radio speaker and public address system. The automobile has two shotgun racks – one attached to the bottom portion of the front seat, one in the vehicle trunk. Attached to the middle of the dash, illuminated by a single bulb, is a hot sheet desk, fastened to which you will always make sure is the latest one off the teletype before you ever roll.
Reed: Yes, sir.
Malloy: It’s your life insurance, and mine. You take care of it, and it’ll take care of you.
Reed: Yes, sir. You want me to drive?
Malloy: (Death Glare)

Oh yeah. Did I mention that Malloy did all of the driving?

Jack smacked another one to deep center with the January 1972 debut of Emergency! A mid-season replacement for Larry Hagman’s latest misfired shot at a post-Jeannie sitcom, the show soon caught fire among the viewers and took on a life of its own which would keep it on the air until 1978.

The show uniquely and separately told the story of the EMT’s and the ER staff. Gage (Randolph Mantooth) and DeSoto (Kevin Tighe) were the paramedics most frequently featured, with others making appearances as well, but these two have to be seen as the two main stars of the bunch who would go out into the trenches and extract victims.

Once they made their way back to the ER, the Webb clone made himself manifest. It was Kelly Brackett (Mark Fuller), the no-nonsense head ER doctor who didn’t have time for trivialities. He wasn’t above punching out unruly patients who might threaten his near-squeeze, nurse Dixie McCall (who, interestingly, had served in a Korean MASH unit before the CBS show made such a background famous).

The show was a favorite of mine, and lingered on as a series of TV movies after it ceased to be a weekly series in 1978.

Jack’s other creative efforts didn’t fare so well. They included O’Hara, US Treasury, Chase (Webb was the director for this one), The D.A., and Project UFO (it actually survived a second season). Jack’s company, Mark VII Productions, also was responsible for a few other series, including one success, Baa Baa Black Sheep (later retitled The Black Sheep Squadron).

One final note, Jack was the actor that was sought out by Animal House director John Landis to play the part of Dean Wormer. Jack turned him down.

He didn’t like the fact that the students were showing a lack of respect to authority.

The name is familiar, if you watched TV in the 60’s. But you probably don’t know a whole lot more about Ivan Tors than the fact that he was the producer of shows that we Boomer kids loved like Flipper, Gentle Ben, and Daktari.

Ivan Tors was born in Hungary in 1916. He was a successful playwright in his native country, but decided to move to the US in the 1930’s.

He soon landed gigs in Hollywood writing screenplays. His early works included That Forsyte Woman, a big hit.

Tors was fascinated with science fiction, particularly undersea stories, and he yearned to write in that particular genre. Thus, he created A-Men Films with actor Richard Carlson, and cranked out a few 1950’s scf-fi classics, including Gog and The Magnetic Monster. He also penned the stories for 23 episodes of Science Fiction Theater on TV.

But it was in the decade of the 60’s that Tors’ star would burn its brightest.

Tors had his first big hit as producer with Sea Hunt, which debuted in 1958.

Ironically, the lone episode of the show that is burned into my mind indelibly involved a diver who was eaten by a killer whale. The paradox of that will be apparent in a moment.

Tors next big hit was Flipper, beginning in 1964. He followed that success with Daktari in 1966, and Gentle Ben in 1967.

Daktari was a very African show. From its opening theme, loaded with African instruments, to its occasional on-location shots from the Dark Continent itself, it was Tors’ homage to the preservation of endangered wildlife over there. He believed strongly in the values that the show extolled. Daktari was inspired by real-life Dr. A.M. Harthoorn. He was a friend of Tors, and ran an animal orphanage in Nairobi, Kenya. Harthoorn assisted in inventing the tranquilizer gun, which allowed for the safe capture of wildlife.

I know I watched a few episodes of Daktari, because that theme has been stuck in my head since LBJ was President. In its final year, the show featured a cute kid named Erin Moran, who would achieve fame a few years later on Happy Days.

Another theme song burned permanently into brain ROM was that from the movie Namu, the Killer Whale. Prior to this movie’s 1966 release, killer whales were possibly more feared than sharks in the public’s opinion. They were called “killers,” for heaven’s sake. The bold black and white coloration seemed to scream “danger!” Even the US Navy classified them as serious threats to divers(a description that wasn’t removed from official manuals until 1973).

The real-life Namu was accidentally captured in a gill net by a couple of British Columbia fishermen in 1965. He was sold to the highest bidder, Seattle Public Aquarium owner Ted Griffin. Griffin exhibited Namu at the aquarium, and also worked with Tors to produce a movie featuring the whale.

The film did well, and was shown on TV later. It instantly changed the public’s view of killer whales to just bigger versions of Flipper. Unfortunately, it also created a mad rush to trap orcas for sale to other aquaria.

Tors went on to produce more TV series and movies. He died on June 4, 1983, leaving behind a legacy of vision that thrilled many of us Boomer kids while we watched his shows and became fans of the ocean, animal conservation, and even African music.