TV and Me: Drama in the Living Room

Television and I grew up together.  This is our story.  Latest in a series. 

The game—and I doubt I was the only one in any generation to play it—went like this: with one or both parents watching TV or at least in the living room with me, and the clock moving closer to 9 pm and bedtime—I got very still and quiet, I made myself as inconspicuous and potentially invisible as possible, hoping they wouldn’t notice me as the show and its commercials end, until we were through the gap between programs, and the nine p.m. show has begun.  I then had a better argument for staying up to watch it, because it had already started.  Partly because I had two younger sisters my mother needed to get ready for bed, this sometimes even worked. 

 Many of the comedy and variety shows started as early as 7:30 and were over by 9 or 9:30 (we usually could beg extensions for something like I Love Lucy.)  But after 9 was often when the drama programs were on.  They would continue—some an hour long—until the news at 11. 

Rocky King, Dumont

The additional delicacy of needing to change channels at this point to see the show I hoped for (it was best if parents left the room for some reason) didn’t come up often. We got only two commercial stations until 1957, the Johnstown NBC affiliate WJAC-TV and principally WDTV Pittsburgh, the Dumont station, that broadcast all the Dumont shows plus their favorites from the other three networks (sometimes on kinescope days or weeks later.)  Even when Dumont folded and it became KDKA-TV, we could see their selection of programs from three networks. So there were some early to mid 1950s shows we missed altogether. By 1958 Pittsburgh had affiliates for all three networks plus the educational/public station WQED.

 The effort to see these dramas past assigned bedtime led to other kinds of drama in the living room.  But I remember quite a lot of these shows anyway.

 Some of these were drama series of one kind or another, like one of my early favorites, Rocky King, Detective, a low budget Dumont show starring Roscoe Karns as a world-weary police detective in a trench coat who at the end of the episode was seen in a phone booth explaining the case to his never-seen wife Mabel. 

Jack Webb, Ben Alexander

There were other police and crime shows:  Racket Squad, Mr. District Attorney, The Big Story (crime-fighting reporters) and the Jack Webb and Ben Alexander Dragnet, its famous monotones and plodding plots concerning what today would seem laughably minor crime for a TV series, with occasional humor (as in the drunk they pulled over who kept insisting he was on his way to Pismo Beach—just the way he said Pismo was funny.)  Another characteristically 1950s cop show was Highway Patrol starring Broderick Crawford, his car and his radio, 10-4.  This syndicated half hour ran from 1955 to 1959 and forever in reruns.

 

There were a scattering of other drama series during the 1950s of the kind that became familiar in the decades following: such as the medical shows (Richard Boone’s classic Medic of the mid-50s; its fictional but fact-based story about responding to an atomic attack presaged The Day After, and is still valid) and the first “adult westerns”(meaning hour long dramas with characters and plots a bit more complex than The Lone Ranger, and sometimes the suggestion of sex), beginning with Gunsmoke in 1955 and Have Gun, Will Travel (starring—again—Richard Boone) in 1957, and eventually taking over what came to be called prime time.

 There was an early 50s science fiction anthology called Tales of Tomorrow, live from New York, which I don’t recall seeing, possibly because it didn’t make the WDTV cut.  But in 1955 I became an immediate fan of the syndicated Science Fiction Theatre.  It ran three seasons, the first two filmed in color so it got a second life in the  60s. Announcer Truman Bradley would begin each episode with a science demonstration, sort of a capsule Watch Mr. Wizard. It would bear in some way on the fictional and often speculative half hour story that followed.  Then Bradley would return afterwards and remind us that: “our story is fiction.  It did not happen…But could it?” 

Truman Bradley

 I remember that this distinction so impressed me that when our fourth grade teacher asked for examples of words of opposite meaning, I volunteered “Fact and fiction.”  She was startled and hesitated before accepting it, a hint that the distinction is not so clear to everyone.

 As for the stories, the one I remembered for years starred Don DeFore, who I knew as Thorny, affable neighbor of Ozzie and Harriet. It involved DeFore’s new neighbor (Warren Stevens, who I would soon see in the classic s/f film Forbidden Planet) owning some curious devices, including a vacuum cleaner that runs itself, a “sonic broom” or 1950s roomba.  He finally reveals (in the guise of telling a story he’s writing) that he and his wife are time-traveling fugitives from an oppressive future. 

Marie Windsor, Warren Stevens, Don DeFore

It turns out that this episode was the second in the series, titled “Time is Just A Place,” and has quite a pedigree: the story it adapted was written by Jack Finney, who also wrote the novel upon which The Invasion of the Body Snatchers is based, and the best-seller Time and Again (he was also a Knox College grad). The episode is directed by Jack Arnold, a sacred name in 1950s sci-fi movies (he directed the first two Creature of the Black Lagoon features, as well as It Came From Outer Space, The Incredible Shrinking Man and The Space Children.) 

 Many other now familiar faces appeared in the series, including DeForrest Kelley (Dr. McCoy), who even played a doctor. This series was one of my favorites of the 1950s.  It looms large in my legend. 

Loretta Young

 But by far the dominant dramas of the early and mid- 1950s were the anthologies that presented a different story with different actors every show. Some were introduced by a famous host who sometimes (or often) took part in the drama.  I most clearly remember that I watched Four Star Playhouse, probably because in its first seasons it was on from 8:30 to 9.  The “four stars” from the movies were David Niven, Charles Boyer, Ida Lupino, and the one who appeared most often, Dick Powell.  I don’t remember specific stories but I remember those names, especially Dick Powell. 

 Similarly, I remember the Loretta Young anthology mostly for her dramatic entrances to introduce the story in a sweeping 1950s dress, and Jane Wyman’s intros on what was first called Fireside Theatre.  I also enjoyed spotting them in various makeup in the plays.  General Electric Theater was hosted by actor and pitchman Ronald Reagan, who also showed up in some of the stories.  

 

Some half hour drama anthologies specialized in crime stories, or romances (Starlight Theatre, Silver Theatre),  mystery and suspense (the most famous of these was Alfred Hitchcock Presents, hosted by the master himself, with wicked introductions often wittier than the story.)  There were so many of these half-hour anthologies in the mid 1950s (Showcase Theatre, Startime Playhouse, Short Short Dramas, Nine Thirty Curtain, etc.) that other summer series cherrypicked from among their offerings to present repackaged reruns.

 Most of the aforementioned (with the certain exception of Rocky King) were filmed dramas, many of them originating in Hollywood.  To reiterate, video tape had not been perfected or in use before 1956 or 1957.  TV shows before then were either filmed (often by Hollywood film studios quietly exploring the TV market) or were seen at least in part of the country on kinescope recordings, which basically were made by movie cameras aimed at TV monitors, and therefore with degraded picture.

 The other and first method was live: the show transmitted at the same time as it happened. And it was the live drama anthologies, mostly staged in New York for often a full hour or more, that gave this era the name of the Golden Age of Television. Even more than the sitcoms, these shows displayed the full range of talents that New York could muster, from the Broadway stage and Group Theatre veterans to the brash young Actors Studio actors and associated writers and directors.

 These shows were also made possible by the tradition of sole sponsorship inherited from radio: a single sponsor with a direct relationship to the show, not just buying commercial time but attaching its name to the program. 

 Most of the anthologies were sponsored by large corporations that wanted the prestige associated with them, and could pay for it.   Large corporations were becoming larger and more numerous in the 1950s, with more employees and more visibility in American life.  They wanted to put a human face on their otherwise faceless business.  

They also wanted their place in the expanding consumer economy.  Some of these companies sold products: Westinghouse Studio One—one of the best and longest running of the anthology shows—featured commercials by Betty Furness, who over a decade became a star for opening up refrigerator doors, and imprinting the slogan on the American mind: “You can be sure if it’s Westinghouse.” Armstrong Circle Theatre sold tile, Ford Theatre cars, Lux Video Theatre soap, Kraft Television Theatre cheese, Goodyear TV Playhouse tires and Philip Morris Playhouse cigarettes.

 Some companies sold services: natural gas companies sponsored shows to highlight the benefits of gas appliances (sponsoring and getting endorsement from Ozzie and Harriet at one point), while General Electric sold not only its own products but the benefits of electrical appliances and the overall benefits of electric power plus science and research, leading up to their punchline slogan: “Progress is our most important product.”  U.S. Steel Hour and Alcoa Playhouse made sure the benefits of steel and aluminum to America and “the products you buy” were known, as well as associating themselves with this worthy enterprise of presenting quality drama, free, in the comfort of your living room.

 They weren’t kidding either. For the variety of original and classic stories they dramatized, and as displays of the dramatic storytelling talent then available, many of them were wonders. (Because most were recorded only on kinescope, even recordings that survive only hint at what they looked like when first broadcast.) 

Carolyn Jones, Wm. Shatner,
Raymond Massey

Among the young writers nurtured and produced by the Goodyear Television Playhouse, a live hour of new teleplays, were Gore Vidal, Paddy Chayefsky, Horton Foote and Tad Mosel.  Their young directors included Sidney Lumet, Delbert Mann and Arthur Penn.  All of them had major careers in movies, stage and television over many succeeding decades, and each of them created at least one classic of our era.  Many of these same writers and directors worked for other anthologies, such as Playhouse 90.  These dramas featured veteran actors and newcomers: for example, Raymond Massey paired with William Shatner in his US network premiere.

 Sidney Lumet also directed for the Alcoa Hour, which presented live original plays and adaptations.  The actors appearing ranged from Dorothy and Lillian Gish, Margaret Hamilton, Basil Rathbone (in a musical adaptation of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol) and Helen Hayes to young actors Jason Robards, Anne Bancroft, Walter Matthau and Lloyd Bridges.   

"Patterns": Rod Serling's examination of 
corporate culture

 I remember the Kraft Television Theatre on Wednesday nights for the most insidious of reason: announcer Dan Herlihy’s delicious voice doing the Kraft cheese commercials.  But it was a major and very popular one hour drama anthology, live from the NBC New York studio which now hosts Saturday Night Live.

 Kraft did elaborate productions—the hour about the sinking of the Titanic featured a cast of 101—and versions of classic stories by Shakespeare, Ibsen, Agatha Christie and one of the hottest playwrights at the time, Tennessee Williams.  There were contemporary stories by up and coming writers like Rod Sterling as well, some including music and even pop stars of the moment.  Young actors like Hope Lang, Paul Newman, Rod Steiger, Lee Grant, Colleen Dewhurst and Cloris Leachman were directed by up and coming talents like Robert Altman (McCabe & Mrs. Miller) and George Roy Hill (The Sting.)  In the late 50s the series specialized in mystery and suspense stories. 

Producers Showcase was a little different: a true anthology, featuring 90 minute live presentations of musical theatre and comedy as well as drama.  It was also an 8 p.m. show, meant for a family audience. It’s where we saw Mary Martin’s Peter Pan—saw it performed live twice, in fact, with Martin flying across the stage on wires in 1955 and 1956.

  Another highlight of its three year run was a new musical adaptation of Thornton Wilder’s classic play Our Town.  Frank Sinatra played the stage manager character (the narrator), and sang most of the songs, including one that became a hit and a classic: “Love and Marriage.” The young Paul Newman was also in the cast—decades later, one of his last stage roles was the stage manager in this play revived on Broadway.

   A star-studded dramatic presentation was The Petrified Forest, with Humphrey Bogart in the role that had won his Broadway fame in the 1930s and introduced him in the movies.  This time his costars were Lauren Bacall and Henry Fonda. It was Bogie and Bacall’s first appearance on TV.  Other performers included Louis Armstrong, Audrey Hepburn, dancer Margot Fonteyn (in Cinderella) and Claire Bloom (adaptation of Romeo and Juliet.)

 At the cutting edge of the spectrum was Star Tonight, a half hour live play featuring young unknowns from the New York stage and drama schools.  Several did go on to long careers, including Joanne Woodward and Robert Culp. This series ran for the 1955-56 season on the upstart ABC network.

Nancy Sheridan, James Dean

  One of the first drama anthologies was Robert Montgomery Presents which ran from 1950 to 1957. Montgomery, familiar as an actor but who also worked as a producer and director, introduced a one hour live presentation, including adaptations of movies, stage plays and books as well as original teleplays. The show is remembered for its high production values and general excellence.

   Such was Montgomery’s status that he got some big Hollywood stars to appear, including Grace Kelly, Claudette Colbert and James Cagney, alongside such newcomers as Jack Lemmon, John Cassavetes, Gena Rowlands, Roger Moore and James Dean.  The series was nominated for the Best Drama Emmy three times, and won once.

 The Montgomery show staged the Gian-Carlo Menotti opera Amahl and the Night Visitors on Christmas Eve 1956, which became an annual event, outliving the series itself.  And my grandmother watched it every time, and insisted we did, too.    

 In the mid-50s, Armstrong Circle Theatre (produced by David Susskind, who once stole a handful of peanuts from my table at the Algonquin Hotel bar) began to specialize in teleplays about actual events, such as the sinking of the Andrea Doria—an episode I seem to recall. Actors appearing in this series included Ed Asner, Robert Duvall, Patty Duke, Peter Falk and Geraldine Fitzgerald. 

Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward

Probably the last of these drama anthologies to premiere was the one that is best remembered—and was the most rewarded with Emmys and accolades: Playhouse 90, which ran from 1956 to 1960.  Some of the productions I believe I saw at least part of—like “The Days of Wine and Roses”—were still over my head. I’m pretty sure I did see and comprehend “The Miracle Worker” with Patty McCormick as Helen Keller.  Others I don’t recall are tantalizing to think I might have seen: did I catch my first glimpse of a Scott Fitzgerald story in the adaptation of “Winter Dreams?”  Or of a Faulkner story, in Horton Foote’s adaptation of his story in “Old Man”?  Or Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, in two parts?

 These were ambitious ninety minute productions, emphasizing new writers like Rod Sterling, whose scripts took on topical concerns and moral issues, prefiguring the best of his later Twilight Zone series. I likely saw some of these, since in a few years I would write my own.  Film director John Frankenheimer honed his craft on this series, directing 25 teleplays. A highlight of the series was its version of Judgment at Nuremberg (written by Abby Mann, directed by George Roy Hill) broadcast a few years before the Spencer Tracy movie, bristling with relevance as America was slowly confronting the Holocaust.  This was only one of many scripts for these live dramas that became the basis for feature films. 

Maximillian Schell in Judgment at Nuremberg

Once again, this series featured established older (and sometimes elder) actors along with younger actors who would become stars of stage and screen, with some unique pairing it would be remarkable to see again: Charles Laughton and Robert Redford (playing a Nazi officer), Claude Rains and Maximillian Schell, Vincent Price and Charlton Heston.  Mike Nichols played a rare dramatic role in probably the first serious dramatic treatment of mental illness on US television. 

 One of the longest running of the drama anthologies was also close to the top in terms of quality and reputation: Studio One ran for the decade of 1948 to 1958, after a year’s head start on radio. It was known for its visual excellence and camera work, taking live TV to its height. Among its best known live dramatizations was “Twelve Angry Men,” later made into a feature film.  Among its adaptations were versions of Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Of Human Bondage, and several Shakespeare plays, including The Taming of the Shrew and Julius Caesar.

 In fact, Studio One did live versions of the same one-hour script of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar three times, mostly in the summer when most of the staff was on vacation.  Theodore Bikel played Caesar in at least two of them, in 1950 and in 1955—which is apparently when I saw it.  This production of Julius Caesar is the first Shakespeare I remember seeing. I thought I was 11 but the schedule tells me I was 9. I remember it because I watched it sprawled on the floor alone while visiting my Aunt Toni and her family in Federalsburg, Maryland in the summer.  As it was getting late, she asked me if I was really watching it—that is, if I was getting it.  I recounted the plot as I understood it and she allowed me to see the end.  It’s probably Shakespeare’s simplest story, and I had a head start on anything Roman from Catholic schools, but I remember this because I understood it when I was not expected to. 

Growing up with TV may have meant that I did not read as much or as deeply. The bounty of TV stories fed my fantasy life in perhaps a more simplified way, as least consciously, and was at least a chief supplementary guide to how the world worked.  Esteemed writer Margaret Atwood is about six years older than me and so did not grow up with TV, and she is way better read than me.  I’ve noticed this about select others older than me or who otherwise grew up without TV.

 But TV is only one possible factor.  For one thing, Margaret Atwood is way smarter than me.  Her parents had university degrees and professions.  Neither of my parents went to college, nor did the parents of most of my friends. I grew up in a working class culture at the edge of a small town.  Also my parents generation—specifically my mother’s—had at least a later childhood and adolescence populated by radio stories, often audio versions of the same shows I watched on 1950s TV.  So radio shaped at least some, probably many, in her generation.

 At this age I feel the gap: unfamiliarity with many classics, particularly of the ancient world, and less comprehension of the depths of written fairy tales and myths that someone like Atwood has, for instance.  The current alarm over how digital devices and social media have radically altered perceptions and skills, including the ability to concentrate, reminds me that some of the same concerns were raised about television. To some extent those concerns were warranted.

 Still, I know that in my specific context, I read particular books and sought out authors because I knew of them from television.  Television gave me a window (however distorted) on a world of educated people and professionals, on political leaders, journalists, scientists, scholars and writers. I did not fear cities and could see myself in one.  And in a specific way, TV got me to college.

Ralph Bellamy, Wm Shatner, Steve McQueen:
"The Defender" on Studio One 1957

 My high school grades were made up of highs and lows, and so I was not at the top of my class.  What distinguished me most as "college material" was the ability to write.  It was encouraged by my mother, more quietly by my father, and nurtured by some of my teachers.  I absorbed forms from what I read (newspapers, magazines and books) but also from television.

 My junior and senior years of high school I won  national Scholastic Magazine Writing Awards with television scripts.  My junior year Second made me eligible for scholarships at two schools: the nearby University of Pittsburgh, and Knox College in unknown Galesburg, Illinois.  I applied for both, and I got scholarships at both schools.  But Pitt’s offer was partial and unrelated to the award; Knox College offered me their full four-year Writing Awards Scholarship, and after careful calculation and soul-searching, that’s where I went.

 I was 19 before I saw a stage play with professional actors in a real theatre, and it wasn’t in or near my home town. Until then, I'd only seen drama in the living room. Television, including the influence of these dramas--the structures and rhythms I absorbed-- were part of what shaped my writing and my life, for better and for worse.  

These 1950s dramas showed possibilities.  Probably I was more directly influenced and inspired by the early 60s dramas I saw when I was a bit older.  More on the 60s next time.

What Are Years?

What is our innocence,

    what is our guilt? All are

 naked, none is safe. And whence

 is courage: the unanswered question,

 the resolute doubt,--

dumbly calling, deafly listening—that

 in misfortune, even death,

      encourages others

      and in defeat, stirs

 the soul to be strong? He

 sees deep and is glad, who

 accedes to mortality

 and in his imprisonment rises

 upon himself as

 the sea in a chasm, struggling to be

 free and unable to be, 

     in its surrendering

     finds its continuing.

 So he who strongly feels,

 behaves. The very bird,

 grown taller as he sings, steels

 his form straight up. Though he is captive, 

his mighty singing

 says, satisfaction is a lowly

 thing, how pure a thing is joy. 

     This is mortality, 

      this is eternity.

---Marianne Moore

1941