What's on TV? Tuesday, July 10, 1962

On Saturday, we discussed, at what was probably excessive length, the feature attraction of the day, baseball's All-Star Game; surely, however, there are other things to attract our attention. So let's take a look at The Verdict Is Yours, which ran on CBS for five seasons, starting in 1957. It must be one of the more unusual daytime dramas on a network: a 30-minute courtroom drama, using real lawyers and judges, with the defendants and witnesses being played by actors ad-libbing their lines from an outline. Not only that, but the court reporter was played first by Jim McKay (before heading to Wide World of Sports and greatness), then newsman Bill Stout, and, this week, CBS sportscaster Jack Whittaker. That's the kind of courtroom show we need today! And you read about it here, in the Eastern New England edition.

This week in TV Guide: July 7, 1962

Ernie Banks, the great Hall-of-Famer for the Chicago Cubs, was fond of saying, on a beautiful day, "Let's play two!" It's doubtful that he had the All-Star Game in mind when he said that, and yet here we are in 1962, getting ready this week for the first of two baseball All-Star Games, this one to be played Tuesday afternoon at 12:45 p.m. ET on NBC, with Mel Allen and Joe Garagiola providing the play-by-play from the brand-new District of Columbia Stadium in, where else, Washington, D.C. (The second game is scheduled for July 30 at Wrigley Field in Chicago.)

Now, you may be wondering why they're playing two All-Star Games this year, and it's a very good question. The birth of the second game came in 1959, to increase contributions to the players' pension fund, which had just started in 1947 and only paid modest amounts to retired players. However, even players who stood to gain from the increased fund were less than thrilled with the idea; future Hall of Famer Early Wynn spoke for many of them when he said that playing two games would make the game less important, less special. (Remember this argument, because you're going to see it come back in a couple of paragraphs.) League officials hated the idea of trying to fit two all-star breaks into what was already a long schedule, which had increased from 154 to 162 games per team the previous season.

But in the days when there was no interleague play, when most teams only televised a fraction of their games back to local fans, and when there were only a couple of nationally-televised games each week, the prospect of a second game, giving fans an additional chance to see the best players from both leagues, seemed like a good idea—at first. It didn't take long for problems to begin, though: in 1959, the second game was played in Los Angeles on a Monday, the day after every team in the league played a full slate of Sunday games (many of them doubleheaders). Players were exhausted by the time they arrived in Los Angeles, and attendance was "only" 55,000—pretty good until you realize the Coliseum, where the game was played, could hold over 90,000. In 1960, the games were played two days apart, one in Kansas City and the other in New York, where fewer than 40,000 fans attended in Yankee Stadium. The 1962 season would be the last in which two games were played; for 1963, the traditional single game would have to do.

But is baseball's All-Star Game—the "Midsummer Classic," as they call it—still special? Remember what Early Wynn said about diluting the importance of the game; well, today we have interleague play regularly; teams routinely televise all their games, either OTA, on cable, or streaming; and games are nationally televised on ESPN, TBS, Fox, and even Roku. The starters only play a few innings, and some of them have already jetted off before the game ends. The goal seems to be not to win, but to make sure everyone gets a chance to participate. For a few years, the league that won the game was rewarded with home-field advantage, but even that failed to really spice things up. One could be forgiven for thinking that the very concept of an all-star game of any kind, in any sport, is passe. Even when I watched baseball, and it's been about eight years since I've seen a game even on television, it had been years since I'd tuned in the All-Star Game, and I'm certainly not inclined to do it again.

But then, the game still sells out and draws a sizeable TV audience; nowhere near what it used to be, of course, but one could say that about everything on television save the NFL. It's one of those things where you can't turn back the clock; you just have to live with it—or not.

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The reason I spent so much time on the All-Star Game is that we're now officially in the dog days of summer, and most of what we've got on tap consists of reruns, summer replacements, and failed pilots. In fact, there's an entire section of TV Guide devoted just to reruns, in the same way there are sections for movies, sports, and specials—two whole pages, in fact. But, as I was mentioning to someone the other day, this is the way television used to be back in the pre-VCR, pre-DVD, pre-on-demand days: the summer rerun season was the time for viewers to catch up on the shows they might have missed when they were first shown, whether due to being out or watching someting else on at the same time. Doesn't matter now, of course, but it was very helpful back then to have a list of repeats you could check out. 

One show that isn't a rerun is The Lawrence Welk Show, and Saturday marks the Maestro's eighth year on television (9:00 p.m., ABC). Among the selections: "Say it with Music," the opening number from the opening show. Something you wouldn't have heard on that opening show is the biggest hit that Lawrence ever had: "Calcutta," which made it to Number One on the charts back in 1960. Here's Bobby and Barbara doing their famous dance routine.

On Sunday, it's the final—and one of the greatest—episodes of Maverick (6:30 p.m., ABC), "Three Queens Full," a wild parody of a certain hit show seen Sundays on "another network," that finds Bart (Jack Kelly) chaperoning three women coming from San Francisco to marry the "three idiot sons" of rancher Joe Wheelwright: Moose (Hoss), Henry (Adam), and Small Paul (Little Joe). Jim Backus is Lorne Greene—that is, Ben Cartwright—I mean, Joe Wheelwright; while the ladies in question are Merry Anders, Kasey Rogers, and Allyson Ames. A line at the end of the description notes that "Any resemblance to another TV series called "Bonanza" is purely intentional."

Speaking of reruns, The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour dips deep into the past with the 1957 episode "Lucy Takes a Cruise to Havana" (Monday, 9:00 p.m., CBS), in which Lucy tells columnist Hedda Hopper the story of how she and Ricky got together. Ann Sothern and Cesar Romero guest star, and Rudy Vallee plays himself. Of course, this episode originally aired a couple of years before Castro's takeover, and our rerun comes just three months before the Cuban Missile Crisis; timing, as they say, is everything. I wonder how many examples there are of shows like this—non-period pieces—in which a country was free when the episode originally aired, and Communist when it was reshown later. I'm sure there must be several, especially in the case of Cuba, but with tensions in the region about to get even higher, I wonder how viewers appreciated a comedy about Cuba?

A star-studded repeat on The Dick Powell Show lightens up Tuesday night (9:00 p.m., ABC); Powell and his wife, June Allyson lead the way in "The Time to Die," the story of a crime boss on the verge of death, who's given a second chance at life—but only if he can find someone, from a specially drawn-up list, to die in his place. The script is by Aaron Spelling, and it bears all the trademarks of Spelling's later series Burke's Law (produced by Powell's Four Star Productions), with appearances by Tuesday Weld, Andy Williams, John Saxon, Ernest Truex, Edgar Bergen, and Ricky and Pamela Powell, who just happen to be Powell and Allyson's son and daughter. That's followed by the anthology Alcoa Premiere (10:00 p.m., ABC), in which host Fred Astaire stars with Maureen O'Sullivan and Harry Townes in "Moment of Decision," with Astaire as an escape artist with a very disagreeable neighbor.

The aforementioned Tuesday Weld also stars in a very good Naked City rerun on Wednesday (10:00 p.m, ABC). She and Rip Torn play a thrill-seeking hillbilly couple who embark on a crime spree, beginning by shooting detective Arcaro (Harry Bellaver). We'll complete our Tuesday trifecta a bit later, with a profile of the young star and her growing career: is she turning into a real actress? Stay tuned.

Syndicated repeats of Peter Gunn begin Thursday on Boston's WHDH with "The Candidate" (7:30 p.m.), in which Gunn is hired to find out who's trying to assassinate gubernatorial candidate Adrian Grimmett, running on a no-taxes platform. I suppose we could start with accountants, tax preparers, and IRS agents to begin with; think about how many of them would be out of work! Later, on Dick Powell's Zane Grey Theater (9:30 p.m., CBS), Edward G. Robinson makes a rare television appearance, along with his son, Edward G. Robinson Jr., in the story of a family divided by the Civil War. And the Tiffany Network's morning show Calendar presents a special primetime episode (10:00 p.m.), as hosts Harry Reasoner and Mary Fickett (above) look at the daytime life of the American homemaker, with guests Vivian Vance, Bob Keeshan, and Bob and Ray.

On Friday, Jimmy Dean wraps up a week as guest host of The Tonight Show during the interim period between Jack Paar's departure on March 30 and the arrival of Johnny Carson on October 1 (11:15 p.m., NBC). The list of hosts who filled in until Carson's arrival is pretty interesting, filled with names you'd expect (Joey Bishop, Merv Griffin, Jerry Lewis) and those who might be more surprising (Jack Carter, Peter Lind Hayes and Mary Healy, Mort Sahl). Groucho Marx did a week, as did comedian Jack E. Leonard, while Merv and Art Linkletter each did four weeks, and Hugh Downs (Jack's sidekick) hosted for three weeks. Last week Jerry was up, and next week it's Arlene Francis's turn, making her the first female host of Tonight. 

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The third annual TV Guide Awards were broadcast on June 24 on NBC, wth host Dave Garroway presenting a passel of presents to deserving programs and performers, including Bob Hope, who won an award for performing for the first time in his 40 years in the business, for "Best Single Musical or Variety Program." Hope, never at a loss for words, said of the award, "I got to rush this over to my stock broker." Favorite Male and Female Performers went to Vince Edwards and Carol Burnett, Favorite Series was taken by Bonanza, and Favorite New Series went to Ben Casey. The broadcast got generally positive reviews, and for those who left empty-handed, Garroway had these words of encouragement: "Virtue is its own reward."

On the Teletype, ABC's new Saturday night series, McHale's Men, is taking shape, and it's noted that there was uncertainty as to whether the show would be "heavy drama or comedy." This uncertainty dates back to the origin of the series as an episode of Alcoa Premiere entitled "Seven Against the Sea." The story, taking place in the Pacific theater during World War II, starred Ernest Borgnine as Lieutenant Commander Quinton McHale, captain of the torpedo boat PT-73. He and his men were stranded at Taratupa base, which had been substantially destroyed by a Japanese attack. Left on their own, as Japanese patrols prevented any rescue attempt, McHale and his men had drifted into a comfortable, laissez-faire lifestyle with the island's natives. Despite these similarities, though, "Seven Against the Sea" was a drama with comedic overtones, and symbolized by a conflict between McHale and his executive officer, Lieutenant Durham, a by-the-book Annapolis man. 

When the movie was spun off into a series of its own, it was, therefore, understandable that the show could go either way, as a comedy or a drama. Borgnine would later remember that the original intent had been to use the show as a vehicle for Ron Foster, who played Durham; when that didn't work out, Borgnine became the lead, and the tone of the show was shifted to comedy. If there was any doubt, the Teletype announces that the first two supporting roles have been cast: comedian Tim Conway, and comic magician Carl Ballantine. And the series itself would come to be titled McHale's Navy. 

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Gil Seldes, TV Guide's critic, takes a look this week at Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color, which, as he says, is really "the wonderful world of Walt Disney," notwithstanding the efforts of RCA and Eastman Kodak in pointing out to us all the wonderful benefits of the world being seen in color.

Seldes's relationship with Disney goes way back; "I was," he points out, "born early enough to have seen 'Steamboat Willie,'" the first appearance of Mickey Mouse. He's been a Mickey and Donald fan ever since, and despite Disney's efforts in live-action presentations, they remain the core of the Disney appeal. On the other hand, "I think Disney's early efforts to 'humanize' animals were (and still are) a mistake." He cites an often-fascinating film on the peregrine hawk as an example of Disney at both his best and his worst; the part of the film in which we're shown how the hawk is trained "can entrance the person who doesn't know but is excited by the unknown." He then plunges us into "a wallow of pity for pigeons that get killed and boys who are crippled, and—I think this is what makes me sore—at the end I'm on his side." Let them live their lives and let us live our lives." Everyone knows what it's like to laugh at a joke and, a moment later, feel it was "pretty sour." "I like Disney," he concludes, "even when I don't like him much." 

Lest you get the wrong impression, though, he adds this: "Walt Disney is one of the very few people who has added to the enjoyment of life of virtually everyone now alive. The only single human being I know who has done more in the entertainment profession is Charles Chaplin." He doesn't know if Disney would take that as a compliment or not; I think he would. But, in it's most literal sense, "the world of Walt Disney is a part of the world we cannot live without."

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And now for that profile of Tuesday Weld that I've been promising. I've never lived in a world in which Tuesday Weld wasn't already well-known as being, if not a great actress, a star. She was once married to Pinchas Zuckerman, and if you're an aficionado of classical music, you'll know that pretty much qualifies you as being cool.* But in 1962 Tuesday Weld is in the process of transforming from a starlet to a name; it is, I think, that point in one's career where things could go either way. For Tuesday, it went in a good way, even though you can look at her career and think it could have amounted to more.

*She was also married to Dudley Moore, making her coolness quotient even higher.

Three years ago, when she was a mere 15-year-old, Danny Kaye described her as "15, going on 27." She once showed up for a TV interview "barefoot, hair unkempt, cigaret lodged in the corner of her mouth, and wearing what appeared to be a nightgown." (Nowadays, someone probably would have told her that she didn't have to dress up, and would have meant that as a compliment.) She'd been called "the Baby Beatnik," "the new Kim Novak," "the sexiest teenager since Liz Taylor," and "a disgrace to Hollywood." For her own part, she remarked that "If teen-agers are gullible enough to use me as a model, that's their problem." During a recent return to the show in which she was once a regular, Dobie Gillis (Warren Beatty was another alumnus of the show), Max Shulman said, "This was an elegant Tuesday we'd never seen before—a real professional, hair up, wearing a smart business suit. And she knew her lines! In the old days she never used to know line one."  She's turned in strong performances in recent shows: The Dick Powell Show and Naked City (both of which we read about earlier), Adventures in Paradise, and the pilot for Bus Stop, which some speculate could be the turning point in her career.

"I've had no turning point," she tells our unidentified interviewer. "All of life is a turning point. But I do feel more confident now." She sees herself as, variously, a mature actress, a child-woman, a spoiled little girl, and, "sometimes—I see nothing at all." She was born Susan Ker Weld (her parents had expected a boy and didn't have any girl names ready), but had always been called Tuesday because, her mother says, "she looked like a Tuesday." (Besides, Tuesday adds, "Thursday is a boy's name." From the Norse god Thor, you know.) A couple of years ago, she had her name legally changed, and so Tuesday it is. 

She remains a polarizing figure; one director said that working with her was like trying to get an elephant to move, while others doubt her ability to transform from a star to a true actress. On the other hand, many of her co-stars have nothing but good things to say about her, and director Ted Post says, "There's always been a deep, serious vein in this girl—it's coming out now." Those in the know say her steady relationship with actor Gary Lockwood has been a "steadying influence." And Rod Amateau, the producer-director of Dobie Gillis, says, "Nothing is going to stop this girl short of a cataclysm—and I mean nothing."

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Finally, there's no MST3K this week, but it's not for lack of trying. For example, on Saturday night's late movie on WJAR in Providence, we've got 1959's Cosmic Monsters, starring Forrest Tucker and Gaby Andre: "The world is threatened with destruction when a mad scientist sets loose huge insects." On Tuesday, it's WMTW in Poland Spring and Prehistoric Women, from 1950, with Laurette Luez, Alan Mixon, and Mara Lynn: "A group of cave women go in search of husbands. On the way, they encounter dinosaurs and other monsters." And on Friday, there's The Ghost of Frankenstein on WNAC in Boston, with Lon Chaney Jr., Sir Cedric Hardwicke, and Ralph Bellamy: "A man plans to replace the criminal brain in a mobster's head with the brain of an educated man." What, I ask you, could possibly go wrong?  TV  

Around the dial

I tried to come up with a picture of George Washington watching television for today, but unfortunately, photography hadn't yet been invented, so we'll go instead with a picture of Sebastian Coe's mother watching her son win the gold medal in the 1500 meters at the 1980 Olympics. This came, by the way, from a 2017 story of how 80 people in Bristol, England, were still watching black and white TV. Among the reasons given were that the license for a black and white TV costs only a third of what one pays to watch TV in color (or, I should say, colour). See, in England, you have to pay a yearly license to watch television at the same time it's being broadcast. This is what subsidizes the BBC, and the current fee is £174.50 for a color license, £58.50 for black and white. It doesn't matter if you watch the BBC or not, or even if you like it; you pay to keep it going. Remember that the next time you're tempted to complain about commercial television. There are, however, no complaints about this week's lineup, however.

Twin Peaks: The Return was one of the most astonishing, confusing, and maddening series to air on television since  The Prisoner, maybe? Apparently, David Lynch wasn't happy with how it was mixed for TV, and so he created one for theaters. Now, it's about to hit the big screen in New York City. I wonder if it will ever make it out here to real America?

My favorite musical of all time is 1776, partially, I suspect, because it has less music in it than almost any musical ever to make it to Broadway. It's the story of the writing of the Declaration of Independence, one of the greatest adventures in human history, and at Captain Video, we see an animated Congress, thanks to a comic book adaptation of the story that captures things quite well.

Returing to British TV, at Cult TV Blog, John writes about "Welcome Home," an episode of the British series Out of the Unknown, that's part mystery, part science fiction. When you get to the heart of the mystery, it proves to be quite intriguing.

At Comfort TV, David takes time to remember some of the major figures who've recently departed, as well as one who, thankfully, is still around: the deaths of Rick Hurst, Lalo Schifrin, Bobby Sherman, and Bill Moyers; and the 100th birthday of June Lockhart. All part of my TV memories, needless to say.

Bob Crane: Life & Legacy is in a reflective mood as well, with June 29 marking the anniversary of Bob Crane's murder, still (and destined to be, apparently) unsolved. Included is a message that serves us well as to how we should view the eternal struggle against the human condition.

At Classic Film & TV Cafe, Rick reviews the two Tony Rome detective movies made by Frank Sinatra. Now, I like Frank, and I like detective movies, so these are both watchable enough, but you get the distinct impression they could have and should have been better.

Paul's latest review at Drunk TV is of season five of Mister Ed, one of those concept sitcoms that managed to transcend the concept and provide entertainment that was genuinely funny on its own. And if that wasn't enough, you get a double dose of Paul this week: at Mavis Movie Madness, he shares his observations on making it all the way through NBC's fabled daytime drama The Doctors, one of those rare soaps that exists virtually in its entirety, except for 290 episodes. That's out of 20 years, folks.

At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence looks at a landmark 1973 episode of Medical Center, starring Lois Nettleton as a lesbian doctor. It's frank, unspectacular, and one of the first television episodes to present a homosexual character as "a healthy, well-adjusted human being."

At Television Obscurities, Robert celebrates his annual Lost TV Day with links to some fascinating stories about lost episodes, audio recordings, and more. I have a couple of stories regarding lost episodes myself, ones that I encountered while writing Darkness in Primetime, that I'll share here one day. Suffice it to say, once again, that the television industry has been very sloppy in preserving its own history.

And finally, over at Eventually Supertrain, I join Dan for our latest discussion on Garrison's Gorillas. I can personally recommend that, but make sure you make time for Ghosted and Bronk as well.

If you're reading this on Friday and you live in the United States, I hope you're enjoying the Independence Day holiday, and that you don't lose any limbs with your fireworks! If you're reading this over the weekend or next week, I'll assume you survived in one piece. TV  

The cat's meow (literally)

What with this being a holiday week and all, including a three-day weekend (although when you're retired, every week is a holiday week, and every day is a weekend) it seems that we could use something a little more lighthearted around here, and when you can combine cats and television, it's that much better.

My friend Daralyn Kelleher makes pet furniture, and in the video below, she shows us a very cool project: making a mini-Simpsons living room for her cats! It's not only a tribute to the show, it's a delightfully whimsical project, yet perfectly practical at the same time. Can't you imagine this in your home?

(That's Henry the one-eyed rescue cat in the animated picture up there, by the way; he's always winking at you.) When she told me about this project, I became determined to share it with you all once it was finished; I think you'll all agree this is one of the most creative things you'll see this year! 

You can find out more about this and her other furniture at her YouTube channel, Daralyn Makes Pet Sofas, or at her Instagram page. Check it out when you have a moment! TV  

What's on TV: Wednesday, July 1, 1953

You might have noticed Hal LeRoy guest-hosting for Arthur Godfrey on Arthur Godfrey and Friends. The Old Redhead had hip-replacement surgery (on both hips!) in Boston last month, which was a pretty revolutionary procedure at the time. His recuperation lasts four months, during which time he broadcasts his radio program from a studio constructed at his farm in Virginia. The whole nation seems preoccupied with Godfrey's recovery; later in the year, they'll be preoccupied with him in a different way—when he fires Julius LaRosa—but, of course, that's another story. This week's listings are from Chicago.

This week in TV Guide: June 26, 1953

What has TV done to men? Naturally, I'm eager to find the answer to this question; it's likely to be far less expensive than going through analysis. However, while this one-page article is written tongue-in-cheek, I believe it makes some serious points about modern society and the impact perception has on reality.

"Whatever happened to men?" our unidentified author asks. "You know, those strong, dominant, intelligent creatures who built empires, struggled for democracy, and delved into nature's secrets. Where did they go? What cataclysm left us with the stupid, bumbling nincompoops who pass as males today?" The answer, of course, is television.  

Yes, thanks to our favorite medium, and heroes such as Robert Beanblossom (Bob Cummings on My Hero), Ozzie Nelson (Ozzie and Harriet), and Chester A. Riley (William Bendix on The Life of Riley), the American woman "thinks of her man, and any other man, as a Prime Idiot. She also sees how easily Lucy outsmarts Ricky, how capably Sapphire beats up the Kingfish [Amos 'n' Andy], and how smoothly Margie manages her father [My Little Margie]." As a result, we get the general idea that men are a bunch of losers, worthy of little more than scorn and ridicule.

There are reasons for this, not all of which are necessarily whimsical: programs are written chiefly for a female audience, and most of the sponsors' products are geared toward women: soap, appliances, food, etc. Therefore, styling men in this fashion "pleases the female, causing her to dash to the nearest store to buy whatever the sponsor advertises." Men have little say in the matter, given that of the top 25 shows in the ratings, men comprise the majority of viewership for only two: the Wednesday and Friday night fights. "So with women comprising the bulk of the audience, and women liking shows that portray stupid men, it looks as if men—who are brilliant, kind and charming*—will continue to be maligned on television." Ergo, any change is unlikely, given that "our children are watching too, and by the time they grow up it will be a generally accepted fact that women are the dominant sex. That means today's little girls are tomorrow's Amazons. Today's little boys are tomorrow's mice."

*I would amend that to read, "can be brilliant, kind and charming," but the point stands.

This is, I think, a future that has largely come to pass. Just look at modern society, and how much of it has been feminized and emotionalized: politics, religion, education, literature and the arts, the corporate world; why should television be any different? The best example of this is probably the kind of programming one sees on outlets such as the Hallmark Channel. Whereas Hallmark used to present classic stories of strong-willed, heroic men, today we're confronted by sensitive, stubble-faced blokes with muscles enough to crush steel, but so gentle they wouldn't disturb the petals of a flower. Is that really the kind of masculinity we need in this day and age? 

One hears a great deal today about "toxic masculinity," the concept of which I firmly reject as being a thing. Still, to the extent that it exists at all, it's hard to deny that its roots lie in a rejection of the male castration that has taken place in popular culture. This is not an argument for enforcing outdated concepts of men and women; this week's article certainly carries a tone of lighthearted chauvinism. But history and experience have taught us that truth is often buried within the folds of humor, and this is no exception. This is the world we live in today, and any attempt to overcompensate for this is bound to wind up in disaster. Until we find a happy medium—a natural medium, I would say—we're bound to reap the harvest we have sown.

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Well, that was a bit intense for openers, wasn't it? Let's try something a little less stressful—like mysteries. Chicago Daily News columnist Jack Mabley, who performs the honors as TV critic for this Chicagoland edition of TV Guide, has seen three TV mystery shows over the past six months. The first was the long-running series Danger, and this episode (which we know aired on April 28, thanks to the always-reliable Wikipedia) featured singer Johnny Desmond making his TV acting debut. The story and the acting were both a bit over the top, Mabley thought, "but maybe that's the way they want it in New York to impress us yokels." 

The second show, which is unnamed, "concerned a pretty young lady who opened the front door to find a stranger who said he was her husband. She insisted he wasn't her husband, and he insisted he was. He even produced some old family friends who said he was. She put in a nervous half hour, because she had paid to have her husband murdered. She didn't admit it until just before the final commercial. The pretender, of course, was a policeman."

The third show was an episode of The Web from a couple of weeks ago. It "concerned a pretty young lady who opened the front door to find a stranger who said he was her brother. She insisted he wasn't her brother, and he insisted he was. He even produced some old family friends who said he was. She put in a nervous half hour, because she had paid to have her brother murdered. She didn't admit it until just before the final commercial. The pretender, of course, was a policeman."

Now, if you think the last two stories were just a bit, perhaps, derivative, you couldn't be more wrong. After all, one of them features a wife wanting to murder her husband, and takes place in London. In the second, it's a sister wanting to murder her brother, and takes place in San Francisco. Not only that, but the wife is a brunette, while the sister is a blonde. See the difference? I thought you would.

On a more serious note, Mabley suggests that, over a period of perhaps six months, one might see 60 mysteries on television, with perhaps seven or eight different storylines, and that sounds about right to me. "Maybe I'm spoiled by Mickey Spillane," Mabley concludes, but of the hundreds of mysteries he's watched, "I haven't wholly enjoyed one since seeing 'Lucky Night' put on by Bill Eddy's WBKB crew early in 1948." Notwithstanding the local angle, that's a pretty sad return on one's investment of time. It probably isn't much different from any other television genre, unfortunately.

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Speaking of which, what exactly is on TV this week? Is it all mysteries and male-bashing, or can we look forward to something completely different?

Back in 1953, the start of the TV Guide week was Friday, and the home of the Chicago Cubs was WGN. (Ah, for the days of the Superstation. Why couldn't I have been retired back then?) Today, the Cubbies take on the New York Giants; coverage begins at 12:45 p.m. CT, with Baseball with the Girls, followed by the pre-game at 1:00, and the game at 1:30. That night, on The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet (7:00 p.m., ABC), we get right to the heart of the matter, with one of Ozzie's neighbors telling him that "women prefer unpredictable men." I suppose that might be true, but you can see what kind of hilarity will result from this, can't you?

On Saturday, it's one of those lovely mysteries, albeit one that originally premiered in the theaters: The Chinese Cat (Noon, WGN), starring Sidney Toler as the great Charlie Chan, who has four hours to solve a case that's stumped the police for six months. Think he can do it? Considering Toler still has nine more movies in the series, my money's on the Chan man. In primetime, it's Bob Cummings as the aforementioned Bob Beanblossom, who "tries to serve eviction papers but turns kitten when he has orders to be "The Tiger" on My Hero (7:00 p.m., NBC). 

Little-known fact: before Hallmark Hall of Fame turned into a series of acclaimed specials, it was a weekly series that aired on Sunday afternoons, and had as its host and occasional star the noted actress (and daughter of Winston), Sarah Churchill. This week, she stars in "My Own True Darlin'" (4:00 p.m., NBC), an original musical comedy for television, based on the real-life story of the "Mercer Girls," women who moved from the East to Seattle to become wives. Yes, it's the basis for the series Here Come the Brides. Later, on Ed Sullivan's Toast of the Town (7:00 p.m., CBS), guest host Tony Martin welcomes opera star Roberta Peters, the comedy Wiere Brothers, the dance team of Elsa and Waldo, harmonica player Richard Hayman, and comedian Joey Foreman. Had there been a Palace, I think it would have stood a good chance this week.

On Monday, Voice of Firestone (7:30 p.m., NBC) tunes up for the 4th of July next week with a salute to Independence Day, starring Metropolitan Opera tenor Eugene Conley, singing a medley of patriotic songs. On Summer Theater (9:00 p.m., CBS), tonight's drama is "Greed," with Hurd Hatfield as a young man whose desire for his grandfather's fortune leads to a murder attempt with either riches or suicide in the offing. There's no word as to whether or not he's confronted by a man at the door insisting he's his grandfather, and is even able to produce some old family friends who say he is. The midnight movie on WBKB, Beyond Tomorrow (1940), is now considered a seasonal movie, if not quite a Christmas tradition; it's the story of three old men who invite a young couple to their mansion for Christmas dinner. Watching it in June is kind of like popping It's a Wonderful Life in the DVD to celebrate Labor Day.

Tuesday's episode of This Is Your Life (8:30 p.m., NBC) is, presumably, a rerun since the honoree is Roy Rogers, and Ralph Edwards famously kept those identities a secret in the days of live television. Meanwhile, on Danger (9:00 p.m., CBS), we run into a familiar theme: in "Surface Tension," "an oil prospector begins to imagine that his best friend and his wife are falling in love, so he plots to murder the friend." See, there is some variety in these shows—unless, that is, a man shows up at his front door who says he's his best friend, and. . . oh, never mind.

Here's something I've not encountered before: on Wednesday afternoon, WGN's 4:00 p.m. movie (title yet to be determined) is a "full length feature cut down to accommodate the ending time of the ball game.") That would be the Chicago White Sox game against the St. Louis Browns (soon to be the Baltimore Orioles), which begins at 1:30 p.m. The movie is scheduled to run until 4:45 p.m., which means it could be cut to, say, even 30 minutes. Can you imagine tuning in to Ben Hur and finding out you're getting the Reader's Digest Condensed version instead? In fact, the game, won by the Sox 13-4, runs 2:38; assuming it started at 1:35 (the National Anthem, etc.), it would have ended at 4:13 p.m., and if you figure, oh, five minutes to sign off, that means we get 27 minutes for the movie. Otherwise we run into Beany and Cecil, which probably had higher ratings.

Dinah Shore signs off for the season at 6:30 p.m. on Friday (NBC), and when she and the cast come to the studio, "they find it empty, and so take on the duties of the stage hands and erect the scenery themselves." (Probably violating some kind of union regulation, but whatever.) In this week's cover story, writer, producer, and director Alan Handley says Dinah is one of the best stars to work with in the business. "When you tell a star that on the next show she is to slide down a fireman's pole and her reply is, 'Can I wear slacks or do I have to do it in a dress?' then you know you're working with a real star."  She has, Handley says, a "rare combination of talent, beauty, brains and sheer graciousness." No matter what the task, there are never any complaints, never a sign of ego. I'll admit that while I haven't read much in-depth about Dinah Shore, this seems to jibe with what I do know; I've never heard anyone speak ill of her. Says Handley, "Her warmth and sincerity don't go on and off with the stage make-up."

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Rumor abound that color television might be available to the public by Christmas of this year. Could it be? The RCAS all-electronic compatible system, one of three competitors competing for approval from the FCC (the other two being CBS's mechanical disc system and the Lawrence tube, developed by Drs. Ernest Lawrence and Luis Alvarez.) In the case of the RCA system, "all-electronic" means that the transmission is handled by image orthicon tubes, as is the case with black-and-white transmission, while "compatible" refers to the ability of the color image to be received by standard sets in black-and-white. That said, what you can see here is an actual picture taken "directly from the face of a television set tube during a demonstration of the RCA system," next to the same exact picture in black-and-white. (The model is the charming Marie McNamara.) 

As you can see, the quality of the color picture is excellent, repeated tests have been successful, equipment is in experimental use, and some sets have already been manufactured. So what's holding things up? In a word, politics.

So far, the FCC has approved only the CBS system, which is not compatible; in other words, "you could receive these color telecasts in black-and-white only if you purchased adapters and converters." Several Congressional leaders, backed by the mighty influence of the RCA corporation, are pressing for FCC approval of the RCA system, but were that to happen, you'd require two sets, one in each format, to receive all the color programs available, since the systems are not compatible with each other. The new sets are likely to be quite expensive, at least until the tubes can be mass-produced. And Dr. Allen DuMont believes that a three-dimensional system should take precedence over color. 

Before we can look forward to color broadcasts in our homes, at least three things have to happen. First, the FCC has to make a final decision on which system is to be used. (spoiler alert: RCA wins.) Second, the equipment for transmitting color telecasts has to be standardized. And third, color sets will need to be put on a mass-production basis to lower costs. 

In other words, there ain't gonna be a color TV under the tree this Christmas.

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A quick take on some coming attractions: Oscar-winner Broderick Crawford is talking about a turn on TV, in a series called Manhunt. I wonder if that doesn't wind up being Highway Patrol, which premieres in 1956 and has a successful four-season run in syndication. 

NBC is looking at big changes in its daytime lineup; Dave Garroway's Today show, currently seen only in the East and Midwest, will be available in California this fall. The show will be kinescoped from the live feed, and then replayed at 7:00 a.m. Pacific time. Also, the network plans a mid-morning hour-long show called Home, hosted by Arlene Francis, which will feature "drama, music, how-to segments and news, all geared to the housewife audience." It's all part of Pat Weaver's plan for the complete broadcast day; the third member of the triumvirate, Tonight, will be along next September. 

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Television hasn't quite relegated network radio to the sidelines (although it's doing its best), and we're reminded of that by an ad for WMAQ radio—I like that idea of radio advertising in TV Guide—which mentions that Bob Hope's daily radio program can now be heard a hour earlier, at 9:30 a.m. Monday through Friday. It's a show "designed especially for women" (so it isn't just television!), with "chatter, guest stars, human interest stories, 'a lady of the week' feature, Jell-O recipes and the inevitable gags and cracks. Remember gals, it's WMAQ for daytime Hope at 9:30 a.m. every weekday." Who says everything is Hopeless? TV  

Around the dial

All right, we start this week at bare•bones e-zine, where Jack's Hitchcock Project continues apace with "Final Escape," a ninth-season episode with a horror ending and a fascinating "rest of the story." 

Speaking of horror, or at least something creepy, at Cult TV Blog John looks at the 1974 anthology series Dial M for Murder (clever name, what?) and the episode "If You Knew Susie," starring the great Elaine Stritch; it's an episode well-worth checking out.

It's TV time again at RealWeegieMidget, and this time Gill's focus is on three TV series having to do with aliens: Project UFO, a Polish series; Orson Welles' Great Mysteries, with the great man himself; and Weird or What, hosted by that greatest of all actors, William Shatner.

Comfort TV takes us on a journey into The Twilight Zone this week, as David looks at three hits and three misses from the series' storied second season. I agree with his assessments completely, which is appropriate since, as David points out, I included one of these episodes in my new book!

Remember "picture stories"? They were kind of like comics, except they used photos taken from TV episodes, using captions to describe the action. At Captain Video, the story in question is "Operation Tycoon," from Ben Casey, and it makes me want to find the episode and watch the whole thing.

Gentle Ben! Certainly I recall that series, perhaps because it was on Sunday nights and came on after football (and Lassie). Also, that was a really cool boat flying through the Everglades. Anyway, Paul reviews the first season at Drunk TV. (Maybe drunk bears would have solved a few problems.)

At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence has tributes to the two most recent classic TV stars to join the list of the dearly departed: teen idol Bobby Sherman, who died earlier this week at 81; and Waltons and Sanford and Son veteran Lynn Hamilton, who died last week at age 95. You can also read about Bobby Sherman at Television Obscurities.

I think Roger makes a very good point at The View from the Junkyard in talking about this week's A-Team episode, "West Coast Turnaround": what happens to the people the Team helps after they leave, given they don't kill the bad guys, only humiliate them. It can come back to bite you! TV  

What I've been watching: June, 2025

Shows I’ve Watched:	Shows I’ve Added:
Adventures in Paradise New York: A Documentary Film Sherlock Holmes	Danger Man

If it seems a little lame to be writing about a series I'm watching for the second time, then I'm afraid I'll have to plead guilty. Thursday evenings have been problematic for a while, between finishing work on the book (Darkness in Primetime, for those of you scoring at home, or even if you're just watching) and keeping up with this here blog. What makes them more challenging is that the Friday "Around the Dial" feature can't really be finished until Thursday, to make sure I include as many blogs as possible. Additionally, if I've fallen behind on my weekend TV Guide essay, Thursday evening becomes an advantageous time to catch up. Therefore, it had become a kind of "To Be Announced" evening, one in which I might be viewing, or I might be typing. What better way to fill in a tentative gap than with a rerun of a beloved series that won't suffer if I happen to miss a week here and there?

This all brings us to Jeremy Brett's definitive portrayal of Sherlock Holmes in the succession of adventures bearing the Holmes name. I won't take a lot of time to recap, because I've written about the show before, but suffice it to say that Brett, who played Holmes from 1984-94 is everything you'd want Holmes to be: quirky, quick-witted, self-assured, occasionally tortured, frequently arrogant, and virtually always right. He's also surprisingly nimble, of body as well as mind, and I bring that up because it points out how important the physical portrayal of Holmes can be. That physicality projects not only his determination, but the rapidity of his mind; and his body language establishes that, for the criminal, he truly is a dangerous man.

Holmes is aided in his sleuthing by his loyal comrade, Dr. Watson, played by David Burke in the first season and Edward Hardwicke in subsequent seasons. This is a Watson who is very smart indeed, a far cry from the bumbling Watson we see in Nigel Bruce's portrayal; he's not at the level of Holmes, of course, but he's learned well from his compatriot, and each episode contains a bit in which Watson demonstrates how he's picked up on the art of observation, often listing the very same clues that Holmes has seen. The difference, of course, is that Watson frequently fails to come to the same conclusion—that is, the correct conclusion—as Holmes, and the cutting retort from Holmes can sometimes be painful, to us as well as to the good doctor, who is the most loyal of friends. Holmes is always quick to temper his remarks, though, and there's no doubt that when he compliments Watson, it is no mere flattery. The chemistry between Brett and both of his Watsons is excellent; it makes them a truly compatible, and formidable, team. Throw in literate, even elegant, scripts (many by John Hawkesworth) and period details that create a perfect atmosphere, and you've got just the thing for those nights when you're looking for a break. Oh, and did I mention that since plugging the Holmes repeats into the schedule, I haven't had to spend even one evening working on the blog? No mere coincidence, I suspect.

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The second half of Thursday night's dynamic duo—and, if I'm being honest, the program most likely to get preempted if I do have work to catch up on—is Adventures in Paradise, or if we're going to be precise about it, James A. Michener's Adventures in Paradise, which ran on ABC for three seasons and 91 episodes between 1959 and 1962. The show has the look and feel of a Warner Bros. production, with an exotic location, and impressive list of guest stars, and a hunky hero who winds up being involved in solving mysteries. Not all the time, perhaps, but more often than you or I are probably called upon. (The last mystery I had to solve was tracking down where I'd left my missing brain.) 

It's not a WB show, however, but one from 20th Century Fox, and the man responsible for it as co-executive producer was Dominick Dunne, who, prior to reinventing himself as a true crime author and raconteur par excellence, was a television executive looking to cast the lead in his new series. As Dunne tells it, the studio had been screen-testing "all the best-looking young actors in Hollywood" for the part, and Ron Ely had the inside track. Then, along came Gardner McKay:

One day in a coffee shop, I saw, sitting at a nearby table in a languid pose, reading a book of poetry, a startlingly handsome young man with attitude, whom I later described to Martin Manulis, the head of television at Fox, as "a little Gary Cooper, a little Cary Grant, a little Ty Power and a lot of Errol Flynn." He was at the time, in the parlance of the town, nobody, absolutely nobody, but his attitude declared that he was somebody. I dropped my Fox business card on his table and said, "If you’re interested in discussing a television series, call me." He did, and we tested him. Gardner’s test was certainly not among the top three or four in the acting department, but as the production staff sat in the projection room, we’d keep going back to it, and one of us would say, "This guy’s got something." Finally, we gave him the part. 

That's exactly it, I think; it fits my perception of the series perfectly. Watching it, you come away with two things: McKay's not a great actor, by any stretch; and there's something about him, a presence that makes you certain of two qualities that all television heroes have to have: everything's going to turn out right in the end, and the villain of the piece is going to be sorry he tangled with him. He also comes across as a very interesting person—McKay, I mean, not the character he plays, Captain Adam Troy, although Troy is a pleasant-enough character. And indeed McKay was an interesting man: he wrote books and plays, was a newspaper drama critic, and taught a writing class. He didn't really like acting, although, as Dunne says, he liked being a star, and he was good at it.

The point is that, while Adventures in Paradise is not great television, it is fun television, another reason I make the comparison to the WB detective shows. Each week Captain Troy and his schooner Tiki III, sailing the South Pacific "looking for passengers and adventure" and finding it; else, where would the series be? I don't know if your life is going to be dramatically enhanced by watching the episodes available on YouTube, and you're not going to be taxed if you do something else while you're watching it, but I've never found it less than enjoyable, and sometimes you just aren't in the mood for hate-watching a series.

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In 1999, PBS premiered a documentary series called New York, which was about the history of the city so nice they named it twice. It was directed and co-written by Ric Burns (brother of Ken), and at the time of its premiere, it was far behind schedule and was shaping up to last far longer than its scheduled 10-hour duration. Finally, the decision was made to release the first five episodes (ten hours in all), covering the years 1609-1931, on five consecutive nights in November 1999; the concluding episode (which quickly ballooned to two episodes) would air at a later date. 

As fate would have it, those two episodes, dealing with the city from the Great Depression to the present, aired on September 30 and October 1, 2001: 19 days after the destruction of the World Trade Center. The final episode was quickly edited to include a reference to the terrorist attack, and then, in September, 2003, came yet another episode, a three-hour special that focused solely on the Twin Towers and their own history. In all, the series ran for eight episodes and 17½ hours. 

Watching it again for the first time since its original run, I'm struck by several things. First is how overwhelmingly unlikeable the city is, and how exaggerated in importance it is. Note that I said "importance" there, not "influence," because there's no question that New York City pulled the strings in this country for many years, for good and ill. What hits you, though, is how much ill there is to it: not only an obsession with democracy and diversity that even the series can't convince you has been successful; but the sheer arrogance of it all, the idea that the rest of the country really is "flyover" territory, good only for providing tourist dollars. (And wouldn't it be great if one could get the dollars without having to deal with the tourists!) For decades, people have looked at New York as not really being a part of the United States at all, but something separate, strange, alien. New York serves to reinforce that attitude two, three, four times over. When you see the famous "Ford to City: Drop Dead" headline from the 1970s, you want to stand up and cheer.

And yet.

New York: A Documentary Film is, without a doubt, one of the most fascinating, compelling documentary series I've ever seen. It comes by that honestly, with a cast of colorful characters that rivals any fictional series television ever came up with, from Al Smith to Fiorello La Guardia to Robert Moses; an architectural history that spans Central Park, the Empire State Building, and the aforementioned World Trade Center; a history that does seem to encompass the whole of American history; a remarkable place, all in all, with something that other places just seem to lack. Even the hatred one might have for the city has to acknowledge this.

And the series, for my money, is the equal of anything brother Ken ever produced. David Ogden Stiers's overall narration is superb, neither cloyingly emotional nor deadly dull; the voice talent, provided by well-known actors and personalities reading letters, newspaper articles, and speeches, is completely appropriate, letting the written words speak for themselves; the commentary, from noted historians and public figures, is both knowledgeable and articulate, and even if you disagree with what they're saying, you can't stop listening to them. The combination of paintings, still photographs, and video (some of it quite remarkable) is riveting, and the score, primarily that composed by Brian Keane, is heart-rendingly evocative.

The final three episodes, which cover New York's fall into disrepair and disgrace, its recovery and rejuvenation, and the horror and heartbreak of September 11, are the most outstanding parts of this series, but without the previous five episodes to set the stage, they wouldn't be nearly as good, which is one reason why the entire 17½ hours need to be consumed. And at the end—or is it? Another two episodes have, for some time, been said to be in the works, bringing the series up to date—a viewer comes away from it exhausted and exhilarated, inspired and disgusted, and understanding that great cities, like great people, can inspire both love and hatred at the same time. And why shouldn't that be the case? After all, a city remains, ultimately, a collection of people: good and bad, rich and poor, beautiful and ugly, admirable and dissolute. In the case of New York, it just seems to have more of all of it than anyplace else. And perhaps that's just the way they'd have it. TV