Browse Tag

television

Dog’s Life

triple R

Part of growing up in the 1950’s was living vicariously through the television characters we admired. Every kid emulates his role models and we played, acting out our kid heroes in the back yard with their lives of adventure and mystery. One problem was that most of them had intelligent pets which guided and helped them, and if not the animals themselves, save the day.

It never occurred to me that most all the kid heroes of my day were orphans. There was Rusty on Rin-Tin-Tin, who was taken in by the kindly soldiers of Fort Apache. He had a captain-father figure, a bumbling sergeant uncle and a canine German shepherd brother who was more intelligent than the troopers. When we played, my friend Jose would give the famous call, “Yo, Rinty” hoping his dog Sandy would rush to his aid and attack us, but instead she just went off somewhere in the yard to poop.

I used to watch You Asked for It on Sunday evenings until one episode scared me (I think it was the one on the haunted Winchester mansion in California) so I switched channels to Lassie. There was Jeff who lived on a farm with his mom and a chronically exhausted grandfather and, of course, Lassie, the family collie, who just happened to be smarter than all of them.

Although Jeff had a chum named Porky, his down-the-road neighbor, the story revolved around Lassie and her uncanny ability to sniff out bad guys or situations that would occur in a rural setting like falling down a well, getting lost, occasional wild animals or unscrupulous carnival barkers and escaped bank robbers.

Then there was Fury, the story of Joey who lived on a ranch with his uncle and an old bunkhouse occupant, Pete, and Fury, the horse no one could tame and ride except, of course, Joey. There was also Corkey the circus boy, another orphan who had the standard cast of uncles and such but lucked out with not just an elephant pal, but lions, tigers and bears, oh my!

There was Spin and Marty, a fifteen minute serial on the old Mickey Mouse Club show. We would tune in every afternoon to see what was happening to a group of summer camp boys (all 12-13 year old white kids as I remember), ranging from a precocious rich kid with a butler to the urban middle class kid who learned to get along with each other through riding the range and singing songs around the campfire which became another Disney hit song, “Way Out There on the Triple R.” I guess that’s what prompted me to join the Boy Scouts at age eleven.

I admired these TV kids because I, for one, had never been to a circus; never had a horse but, like Jeff and Rusty however, I did have a dog at one point who, unfortunately, did not save me from rustlers and thieves but mostly sat in the yard licking himself or dry humping the living room sofa.

These shows had conflict and resolution and a moral to the story as the characters dealt with family and social problems. Guidance was provided by the adults and companionship from the less brighter friends and the love and devotion from a super intelligent pet.

All these shows had an effect on my personality and it took a while to realize that their perfect lives were not be be jealous of since it was all entertainment and not all kids had pets, loving parents, perfect friends and middle class homes, nor did they go to summer camps or vacation spots. Later, the disappointment and sadness of learning how my childhood idols turned out in later life, made me realize how we can be influenced by television, believing our lives are less fulfilled or happy than our TV counterparts. Especially when they had a dog who could save them from disaster. Or a butler.

Magic Screen

winky

I was the first generation introduced to the electronic baby sitter: the television set. Moms across America discovered that Saturday mornings, as well as after school, could be less of a burden by placing their kids in front of the box while they did their household chores, and the programmers knew it. By today’s standards, early kids television shows required a substantial need for imagination due to restricted and low budgets, but it worked.

There was Smilin’ Ed’s Gang which gave the appearance it was filmed before a large, live audience but each week, it became obvious that it was the same enthusiastic kids jumping up and down in their seats as the week before. It was still the same kids when the show was later hosted by Andy Devine. Even Gunga the Indian Boy, in the serial film short, was attacked by the same tiger time and again.

There were shows like Rootie Kazootie and Fury (a horse story), but the ones I like the best were the sci-fi programs like Space Patrol and Space Cadets. Each week the loyal crews would embark on interplanetary missions against the cardboard backdrops of outer space. Space ships with cigarettes stuck in their exhaust gave the appearance of rocket smoke as wire suspended ships zoomed through twinkle light space to fight evil meanies that looked like Uncle Louie after an all nighter. Even as a kid, you had to watch with a degree of suspended disbelief as the cameras tilted left to right and up and down to convey motion as the crew sat amid normal tables and chairs simulating the ship’s bridge. Some early first generation Star Trek episodes even employed the same tactics, I seem to recall.

My Uncle George was always on the forefront of innovation. Once, when we went to visit, he had a plastic color tinted film to place over the TV screen to give the appearance of color to the black and white set. It was cut to fit the size of the screen and was held in place by static electricity. It was a simple plastic film with graduating colors starting with green on the bottom, light tan in the middle and blue on top. It was great if you were watching the old westerns such as Gene Autry or Hopalong Cassidy because you would have your brown sagebrush and blue sky, but close ups and any other show made actors look like aliens from another world (which made it great for watching Captain Video and his Video Rangers.

Speaking of plastic screens, there was a show called Winky Dink and You. It was a semi-animated show with a live host. It was unique because you had to order a special magic screen to place over the tube in order to draw right on the television set with the special crayons also provided. The show’s premise was to help Winky by drawing what he needed (ropes, a car with wheels, balloons, etc) to succeed in his endeavor.

Most kids could not wait the two or three weeks to get their magic screen, much less spend the required cash and a boxtop to get it so we just drew directly onto the TV screen. This did not please mom at all as the regular crayons were a bit difficult to wipe off, so we were forbidden to participate in the show and thus stopped watching it, which may be the reason it was canceled after a short run.

There were other kids shows that had cartoon specialties such as Crusader Rabbit, Tom Terrific (with his mighty wonderdog, Manfred); some live action shows like Susan’s Show where she sat on a kitchen chair and was magically flown to a place with talking furniture which featured a table named Mr. Pegasus whose legs wobbled and mouth was the front drawer. They were cheapo sets and crude scripts but imagination in those years was king and sorely needed if you were watching this stuff.

There was Super Circus (another story), Garfield Goose, a puppet show with Frazier Thomas who also employed a magic screen to view cartoons, and a goose who didn’t talk but clacked his beak. Thomas, however, knew exactly what the clacking goose was saying. There was Kukla Fran and Ollie, another puppet show created by Burr Tilstrom, with Fran Allison. Both the aforementioned shows were more creative than the others and lasted for a long while.

These are only a few of the kids shows (there were many more) available to sit us for free while mom did her daily chores or visited with friends. I’ll share more of the shows that played a major role in my early childhood development, such as Elmer the Elephant, Mickey Mouse Club, Howdy Doody and Ding Dong School later on. Right now, I want to see if I can catch Spongebob Squarepants.

Remember the Alamo

crockett alamo

It was in late fall, 1954 when the television show, DisneyLand, premiered a three part mini-series (maybe a TV first) on the life of frontiersman Davy Crockett, and the rest was television history.

The show took off like two riverboats in a race when Fess Parker became an overnight hero Disney style. Although there was an element of truth to the series, Davy Crockett, with the help of his sidekick George Russell, tamed the frontier, set Andrew Jackson’s Congress straight and was the last man standing at the Alamo. Impressive for someone we kids had not heard of before Disney.

Disney styled his programs to appeal to children and Davy Crockett was no exception. Davy could grin down a bear with his charming toothy smile. His sidekick Russell, played by Buddy Ebsen (later of Beverly Hillbillies fame), followed Davy everywhere plunking on his guitar and singing verses of what would become a number one hit record, “The Ballad of Davy Crockett.”

Although politically incorrect and offensive in parts by today’s standards and enlightenment (such as references to Native Americans, British, Mexicans and perhaps Congress), given the context of the time it was presented, the program introduced young people to several chapters of American History (as embellished by Disney) and began a mania of Davy Crockett emulation and hero worship.

As the Christmas season approached, stores and catalogs were filled with coonskin hats, miniature Alamos with plastic and rubber fighters, buckskin jackets, toy rifles, rubber Bowie knives and a host of other paraphernalia. Even prior to the holidays, kids were flocking to the stores to buy comic books, trading cards and records while they eagerly anticipated the next “official” Davy Crockett something (which, shortly, would be Davy Crockett and the Riverboat Pirates).

Even other shows mentioned Crockett. Jackie Gleason, who portrayed Ralph Kramden on the Honeymooners, belonged to a fraternal group called the Raccoons whose members wore a coonskin cap like Davy. This was before the series but now had gained popularity because of it. On one program, Gleason enters the room dressed in his lodge uniform with cap and the little boy Ralph’s wife Alice was babysitting, rubs his eyes and states: “I never knew Davy Crockett was so fat!”

The series ran one night a week for three weeks and by then kids were discussing and playing Davy Crockett Indian Fighter, Davy Crockett Goes to Congress or Davy Crockett at the Alamo. Disney announced a movie would be released with all three episodes combined into a full length movie. This was great because now we could go to the show and see Davy in color on the big screen.

My gang pretended that Jose’s front porch was the Alamo, and Rich and I defended it while Freddie and Jose (you guessed it, Jose was Santa Anna) attacked it and we wound up breaking a few pickets along the railing as the attackers scaled the fort.

Aside: I remember that Jose’s mom always wanted him to be the “good” guy when we played war but it was interesting that his role was Santa Anna when we played Alamo. As I reflect back with the wisdom of an old man, perhaps Jose was the good guy at the Alamo, considering Texas did belong to Mexico at the time.

For over a year after the series premiered, there was not a kid in the neighborhood who didn’t have a coonskin cap. The fervor of response to Davy Crockett may have been due to the times. It was 1955 and communism and nuclear war were the threats of the day. Crockett instilled a sense of patriotism in kids and a sense of pride in our country and its defense.

When our local theater, the Will Rogers, displayed a sign that Davy Crockett was playing that Saturday only, kids lined up down the street to see the movie thinking it was the much anticipated Disney version. In a rare gesture, my father took me to the show. As the lights dimmed, my excitement could not be contained. It was then I learned about bait-and-switch, and misleading advertising.

The theater manager had gotten hold of a cheap print of some old black and white movie where Davy Crockett was only mentioned in passing. My father was pissed and stated that he had seen this movie on television recently. Kids were beyond disappointed and parents who had taken their kids began to gather outside the manager’s office door (he locked himself inside) to demand a refund.

“Read the marquee,” the manager yelled out from behind the locked door. Above the big bold red letters stating “Davy Crockett,” just above, in small black letters, “Son of.” And that is what I heard a lot of fathers mumbling as they left the theater, “Son of…”

Two Ton Baker

happy pirates

Dick “Two Ton” Baker was a Chicago staple when I was growing up; probably the most friendly happy-go-lucky guy on kid’s television. He and I had many lunch time meetings together and he had an influence in the development of my personality and taste in quirky music.

“Two Ton” was large, over 300 pounds, but we kids (and I’m certain many adults) used that name as a term of endearment due to his jovial, easy going style. His noontime show in the 1950’s, The Happy Pirates,” was just as regular to me as my mom’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

He welcomed us aboard his pirate ship, which many kids thought was docked along Lake Michigan someplace, and they wouldn’t be too far off since the show was shot in a television studio in Chicago.

He was joined by a porpoise named Bubbles and a parrot named Squawky who, as I remember, would walk across the top of his piano as he belted out humorous ditties for his audience,

They were happy, frivolous songs (with a deeper meaning we kids didn’t always get) such as “Fuzzy Wuzzy was a Bear,” “I’m a Little Teapot,” and “I’m a Lonely Little Petunia.” Songs that were fun but let us know you could be different and still be okay.

I learned later on that Baker wrote and composed quite a few popular songs like “Civilization,” made famous by Danny Kaye or “Too Fat Polka” recorded by Arthur Godfrey. His discography is impressive and songs like “I’m a Little Weenie,” and “I Like Stinky Cheese,” are cult favorites.

The Happy Pirates was a fun show yet educational in its own way. We learned how to sing and act out songs (here is my handle, here is my spout), we learned nutrition (in a way) with daily lunch menus which were also introduced by song such as “Today is Friday, Friday: Fish. Is everybody happy?” I’m certain we had fish on Friday introduced for the benefit of any Catholic viewers (Mommy, how come Two Ton can have a hamburger and not me?).

Every summer, Two Ton would be the spokesperson for Riverview Amusement Park (another story) and I remember one commercial where he was sitting in one of the cars for the newly installed Wild Mouse ride. I was surprised he could even fit in the car much less ride the tracks. My guess is he never left the station and they filmed him giving the illusion he just finished the ride, otherwise it may have wound up, along with Two Ton, in the Chicago River.

Dick Two Ton Baker died in the mid 1970’s and, over the years, I read about the passing of many of my early childhood idols: Buffalo Bob Smith of Howdy Doody, ventriloquist Paul Winchell, the voice of Jerry Mahoney and also Tigger from Winnie the Pooh; Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Greenjeans (also the voice of Little Orley), John Conrad of Elmer the Elephant, and Frazier Thomas from Garfield Goose and later, Bozo’s Circus.

My memories are enhanced nowadays, with use of the Internet and sites like You Tube where I can browse around and find my old TV friends still active, still alive, in a short kinescope of one of their early programs which somehow survived, telling me not to sit too close.

I guess I’m still “a little weenie.”

Shock and Schlock

marvinshock (2)

I was going on 12 years of age when the commercials for a new night time show were being announced on TV called Shock Theater, declaring that the first movie shown would be Frankenstein. I had to see that film. The problem was that the new program was scheduled for 10pm, my bedtime.

The week prior to the event was spent trying to persuade my parents to let me stay up and view this classic horror movie. I knew every other kid in school would be up watching it and I didn’t want to be left out. It was the weekend, there was no school the next day and I promised I would get up the next morning when awakened. I had a chance.

There were two rules about sleeping and waking in my father’s house. You went to bed when told and you got up when told. No variation, no exception. Bedtime was at 10pm and Shock Theater was debuting the same hour. I needed to persuade my father that I was old enough to handle the additional hour and a half one night a week. I knew if I could swing it this once, the following weeks would be easy. I needed help.

I had already seen the movie “Them” about giant ants and “The Beginning of the End,” about giant grasshoppers (there were a few giant mutant creature film back then regarding the effects of atomic blasts) at the local Will Rogers movie theater and used that experience to support the fact I could handle horror films.

I gained my mother and grandmother’s support in allowing me to stay up and watch Frankenstein. They had seen it in the 1930’s and concluded it could not be as scary as back then, being on a small screen and dated. Finally, my father gave in and allowed me to stay up to watch.

The big night arrived. We had all washed and got in our pajamas as mom made a big bowl of stove top popped corn laden with butter and salt. We sat around the television, me on the floor with a bottle of Coca Cola, ready to be scared, but not to the degree I would be sent to bed, deemed not mature enough to handle Boris Karloff.

The Shock Theater sign came on and shattered like a pane of glass, revealing a talking skull who invited us to come in as the camera moved to a dingy, dank looking cellar with barred windows. There, standing to greet us, was a guy named Marvin who looked like a beatnik with black turtleneck sweater and suit with very thick lensed glasses with black frames.

It actually was kinda funny and not scary at all. He had an assistant, his wife, named “Dear.” Her face was always hidden. Marvin would grab her by the hand and her entire arm would come out of the socket (obviously a mannequin). And after the opening foolery, Frankenstein began.

In weeks to follow, I was allowed to watch Dracula, The Werewolf, Bride of Frankenstein and the Mummy. This was partially due to the fact I survived the first late night encounter and that my parents also wanted to see these classics again. At school, we played monster hunters and mad scientists instead of Cowboys and cops, for quite some time after.

Over the next two years I was introduced to classic horror films along with Marvin who added a musical group called the Deadbeats and another assistant wearing a rubber Frankenstein mask called “Shorty.” These breaks in the movie were sometimes more entertaining than the film.

Best of all was Marvin’s wife who was subjected to all types of misfortune throughout the evening. “Dear” never showed her face and her back was always toward the camera, or her features obscured by a placard or prop and she was always losing an arm or leg, subjected to accidental mayhem in helping Marvin with his experiments. Shock Theater ended after two years to be followed later on by another host, Svenghoulie and Screaming Yellow Theater in the 1960’s.

Because I had been allowed to watch these horror classics, I was drawn to the movies of the 1930’s and 1940’s. Not just horror, but others such as Casablanca and the Maltese Falcon. And I was allowed to stay up since I had recently become a teenager.

I owe my infatuation with obscure and classic movies to a strange little man with super thick glasses in a black turtleneck named Marvin and, of course, my father, who suspended one of his rules and allowed me to stay up late one night in 1957 to watch Frankenstein.