NBC studios – Page 2 – Garroway at Large

“Today” at 25

January 14, 2020 is the 68th anniversary of Today, and to mark the occasion let’s not look at the program as it is now. Instead, let’s go back to the morning of January 14, 1977 and see how Today marked its 25th birthday. It was something really special.

I’ve seen several of the anniversary programs – the 25th, the 30th, the 35th, the 40th and 50th¹ – but of them all, the 25th anniversary was the one that put the most effort into calling back to those first years. And while the others may have been a little more stylish, or might have even spawned a prime-time retrospective, there was something special about the 25th anniversary special that none of the others fully matched.

We see this special theme from the very beginning: the screen is black and white, there’s an in-studio reproduction (though not exact) of the original communicator’s desk from the RCA Exhibition Hall, and the first voice you hear is that of Jack Lescoulie re-creating a version of that very first morning’s open.

And there’s Dave Garroway himself, happy to see you. “Hello, old friend, and good morning, too! As I was saying when I was so rudely interrupted myself, seventeen years and thirty-eight days ago, we’re about to give you the news of the morning.”² Garroway recounts the major headline of that first day in 1952 – the captain of the freighter Flying Enterprise is about to receive a hero’s welcome – and then throws to news editor Frank Blair.

It’s Blair (who wasn’t on the show that first morning, of course)³ who breaks the spell. “You know, they really used to call me that, Dave, 25 years ago?” Blair pretends to read a bulletin that what you’re seeing is not a dream, but let’s go across the studio to Tom Brokaw.

Tom Brokaw, captured in the warm tones the RCA TK-44 rendered so well. (NBC photo)

And with that, we’re in color and in 1977, and everyone has a good laugh. Brokaw explains the concept: they have turned the studio into a time machine so they can revisit the last 25 years. It’s a birthday party to which we’re all invited.

The first “Today” set I remember seeing. (NBC photo)

Brokaw explains that when Today first went on the air, he was living in a place where they could barely get television, and that co-host Jane Pauley was trying to learn how to walk. “And I was bald,” she adds. (Gene Shalit, asked where he was in 1952, said he wasn’t bald.)

There’s no way he could have been. (NBC photo)

The real headlines of January 14, 1977 are presented by the current news editor, Floyd Kalber. The big stories of the morning: the death of Anthony Eden, winter storms across Europe, a good part of the United States under extreme cold, and the following week’s inauguration of Jimmy Carter as president.

There’s then a short local break, during which the weather from across the country scrolls on the screen, along with the affiliates’ call letters, while music plays. Keeping with the morning’s throwback theme, the music selections are big band standards as re-recorded by Enoch Light and The Light Brigade.⁴

Nifty anniversary version of the bumper. (NBC photo)

Today’s weather scroll was soothing when it would come on and music would play behind it, a handy little break in the action. I picked this particular location on purpose because it’s not far from where I grew up. It’s a long story, but WJBF-TV had switched to ABC from NBC in 1967, but was allowed to carry “Today” in a market where the NBC affiliate (WAGT-TV) was a UHF station. There’s a lot about affiliate history that’s like trying to sort family trees in ancient mythology. (NBC photo)

After the break, Kalber revisits the top story of January 14, 1952 and we see newsreel footage of the stricken Flying Enterprise and the hero’s welcome for Captain Carlsen. Kalber then throws to Lew Wood, who does the morning’s weather.

Lew Wood fascinated me when I was a kid. He seemed like such a nice man. (NBC photo)

There’s another break, then the party begins. Brokaw is at the old desk replica with Garroway, Lescoulie and Blair.

Not the best re-creation of the 1952 set but they at least get points for effort. (NBC photo)

Brokaw begins by calling Garroway “a heroic figure to a generation of young people who grew up wanting to get into broadcasting.”

Something about Garroway in 1977 reminds me of an aged lion, worn and scarred but still proud. (NBC photo)

He then introduces a clip from October 1955 to show what the program was like back then. The clip has Garroway throwing to Frank Blair for that morning’s headlines (which, strangely enough, also involved Anthony Eden). From the vantage point of 1977, the men laugh at what they’ve just seen. Lescoulie says of Blair, “He was a little nervous in those days. It took him two Bloody Marys to get the top off his Miltown bottle!” Blair ruefully says, “That came later. That came later.”⁵

Hard to believe Brokaw turns 80 this year, 17 years older than Garroway was in the scene you see right here. (NBC photo)

Brokaw asks Garroway how confident he felt about the program’s prospects when he agreed to join the show. Garroway recalls that when he met the people he was going to work with, he took out a four-year lease on a penthouse apartment on Park Avenue. Prompted to recall his most memorable moment: “June 19, 1961.⁶ Walking slowly and regretfully out of the studio.” Common questions follow: did J. Fred Muggs really bite? Blair instantly warns Garroway, “You’re gonna get sued!” Garroway claims the NBC dispensary has multiple reports in its files of vaccinations he received after chimp bites. This prompts recollections of various incidents involving Muggs, as well as the lawsuit Muggs’ caretakers filed against Garroway, Lescoulie and NBC. And with that, we see a clip of Muggs attacking Jack Lescoulie’s desk one morning.

Blair also mentions that all three of them are working on books. Blair promotes the upcoming publication of Let’s Be Frank About It (and the title draws a howl from Lescoulie). Garroway mentions that he is writing “sort of an autobiography” with the working title “Garroway At Length.” Asked for a publication date, Garroway replies, “As soon as possible!” Lescoulie says he isn’t working hard on his because Blair’s would be out first. “Mine will be meaner than his,” Lescoulie says. In the meantime, he leads a good life with a lot of golf and a little writing, and he and his wife had never really given up the bright lights: “At least once a week we go over to the A&P if it’s open at night and do our shopping.”⁷

During the optional local break the discussion continues, for the affiliates that didn’t air a local news break at :25 after. Garroway tells Brokaw he didn’t feel television had lived up to its potential, that he had hoped the programming we would get would be more truthful and informative than what we ended up with. There’s also a brief discussion about lighter moments. We see a clip from the color era with Lescoulie disguised as Superman…

…then Lescoulie talks about a circus pantomime act he once did that stretched nearly ten minutes and left him completely spent at the end of it. Suddenly Garroway interrupts Lescoulie and tells him to smile at the camera. Lescoulie asks why. Garroway replies, “Jimmy Carter!”

Brokaw asks about embarrassing moments. “The day I sat down and there was no chair there,” Garroway says. Blair remembered an event when Garroway didn’t realize his fly was open. “That didn’t embarrass me at all!” Garroway replies, deadpan. In the background, you hear the studio crew cracking up.

Network break slide. I love Rockford. I’m there, baby. (NBC photo)

The next half-hour begins with another clip from October 1955: Lescoulie introducing the segment, interrupted by Gertrude Berg:

Then Brokaw and Pauley preview the upcoming segments, followed by news from Floyd Kalber and weather from Lew Wood, who shows a clip of how the weather was done in 1955.

Garroway with “Today Girl” Lee Ann Meriwether. (NBC photo)

After the weather, Lew Wood has the sports. The big story is the latest in the lawsuit Charlie Finley (owner of the Oakland A’s) filed against baseball commissioner Bowie Kuhn.

We then see a segment on all the places Today has been and the technological innovations of the last 25 years. Then Jane Pauley introduces a 1955 clip observing National Doughnut Week, in which Garroway demonstrates a series of accessories for your coffee-and-doughnut habit: a pinkie rest, a cup for retrieving your doughnut if it falls in the cup, tongs for retrieving a doughnut, and a spoon for stirring your coffee. Of them all, Garroway likes the pinky rest the best. He says it makes you feel strong all over.

Dave’s smile in the final frame sells it. (NBC photos)

Gene Shalit then introduces Lionel Hampton and His Jazz Inner Circle. They perform a medley of the program’s various theme songs⁸ under a montage of famous guests.

Always a good morning when Mr. Hampton provides the music. (NBC photo)

At the end of the hour is what Brokaw calls a “family portrait” – the current staff with Garroway, Lescoulie and Blair.

Brokaw asks Garroway to give his famous sign-off. Garroway obliges, talking about something “that we have a great deal of and need so much more of…peace.” A few seconds later, Blair softly says, “God love you.”⁹

Nifty shot of 3K as the hour ends. Note the top of the cyclorama, the floor director at right with hand raised, Lionel Hampton and his group to the right. The kinds of details people like me love. (NBC photo)

The next hour begins with another simulation of that first day. This time, Lescoulie introduces the Master Communicator with “here’s old four-eyes himself, Dave Garroway!” Garroway wishes the audience good morning – “Once more we meet after a quarter of a century and we’re still making it, aren’t we? You and me. And so is Today, after a quarter-century.” Garroway forgets to give a cue to Frank Blair, and there are several seconds of silence. When they realize what’s happened, everybody cracks up. “Nothing’s changed!” Once it’s all straightened out, Blair introduces “the new boy on the block, Tom Brokaw.”

After the news and weather, Brokaw conducts a desk interview with Garroway and Pat Weaver.

The Master Communicator and his most important advocate. I love this screen-grab, for their respect and regard for each other is unmistakable. (NBC photo)

The former NBC executive talks about the idea behind Today. He had known for many years there was a morning audience with a lot of potential, and he wondered if he couldn’t do something better than another morning “gang” show – instead, a show that had information, but had enough showmanship to attract an audience. And here Brokaw introduces about thirty seconds of a promotional film NBC had put together to sell the Today concept to affiliates. Over a montage of clips of Churchill, Truman, Stalin, Eisenhower and other important figures, as dramatic music plays behind, a narrator talks about how “a program like this is a magnificent use of the tool of television in its ultimate social responsibility,” and that the viewer would get information to be a responsible citizen in a free society. “His horizon will be limited by neither time nor place.”

Not that we’re trying to make an important point in this scary atomic age, but…. (NBC photo)

As the film ends and its music swells to a conclusion, we see the enormous water vapor cloud from the second Bikini atom-bomb test, and a primitive (almost frightening) Today logo. “This is the real secret weapon of free men,” the narrator says. “To know, to understand, so that John Smith is ready for today…whatever it may bring.”¹⁰

Back in the studio, Brokaw gives credit to Garroway for his talent in helping make the show succeed. Weaver recalls how Garroway came in from Chicago and asked to do the show, and that Weaver quickly realized that Garroway’s “command and serenity” in the midst of the show’s chaos would work well. Brokaw asks Weaver how he would change television in 1977. “Oh, you’ll need an hour for that,” he replies with a verbal eye-roll.

Yes, he’s Sigourney’s dad – all the more reason to love him. (NBC photo)

The discussion continues into the local-option break. Brokaw introduces a piece by Paul Cunningham on how the Today model has been adapted worldwide. After the piece, Brokaw muses that in Britain they’re called “presenters” and Weaver insisted on the title “communicators,” and now Brokaw’s title was “host,” which made him feel like he should be serving breakfast to his fellow on-air personalities. Weaver didn’t like that title. “I’d knock that off fast!” he said. Garroway informs us that to this day, he’s still remembered for Today – for every one person who remembers Garroway at Large there will be two people who know him from Today. What fascinated him, he recalled, about the Today job was that at that hour, people’s minds were open. “It’s almost a blank slate.” Brokaw thanks Weaver and Garroway for what they have done to make Today last. Weaver replies, “See you on the fiftieth!” Garroway follows: “Amen!”¹¹

The final half-hour doesn’t have a lot about Garroway and Lescoulie and Blair, but it does begin with a nod to the storefront studio window and a simplified version of the move inside 30 Rock for the move to color broadcasting.¹² There’s news, and then after a commercial we get a live spot for Alpo with Gene Shalit:

And Lew Wood does a spot at the desk for True Value Hardware Stores.

Lew’s telling us about a special on white paint that keeps your walls easy to clean. (NBC photo)

Then there’s a discussion about what the preceding 25 years have meant for society and the country. The panelists are Daniel Boorstin, Pulitzer-winning historian and Librarian of Congress; Charlotte Curtis, editor of the op-ed page of the New York Times; and Martin Marty of the Christian Century, who is also a professor at the University of Chicago.¹³ It’s a lengthy and thoughtful discussion of the sort you would never see on the modern Today program.

A sign of a far different time indeed. I shudder to think what they’d use this segment for now. (NBC photo)

After a break, we get another Lionel Hampton performance. This time, the music plays behind a montage of photos of Today‘s people from the last quarter-century. It’s a simple but really cool tribute.

After the final break, Tom Brokaw stands with the morning’s guests and the show’s current staff. He says that two prominent television critics of the day gave Today bad reviews and shares some of the more pointed quotes from them. Then Brokaw points out that both those newspapers are no longer around, but Today still is. “While much has changed over 25 years, one hope that has been with this program from the very beginning has not changed.” At which point, Brokaw nods to Dave Garroway, who says, “That hope is some love…and peace.”

As the cameras pull back, you can just see Garroway move over to the giant birthday cake and pretend to give it a karate-chop, much to everyone’s amusement.

And that’s how Today celebrated its 25th anniversary: a little silly and a lot sentimental, but all of it memorable.

On the “Monitor” Beacon

All too often radio history seems to end in about 1950, when (as popular culture would have you believe) television roared from the cradle to the living room and never let go. Not only is that overly simplistic concept inaccurate in a lot of ways (and oh, how I could bore you to tears describing those inaccuracies), but it also sells way short some truly innovative attempts to keep radio vital and relevant. And one of those efforts involved our very own Dave Garroway.

On this blog you will often see me sing the praises of Sylvester “Pat” Weaver, the visionary NBC executive whose mind and clout shaped so much of what we now know – the Today and Tonight programs, magazine-style sponsorship of network programming (allowing sponsors to buy small segments of ad time during a show instead of sponsoring the whole thing, which opened up television sponsorship to dozens of smaller clients), and so forth. But while Weaver’s vision for television is often discussed, it’s sometimes forgotten he had concepts for the radio division as well.

Network radio was still going in the early 1950s, but it was obvious that within a few years television was going to dominate the landscape, as more stations signed on and as television receivers became more affordable. Radio had to adapt or die. It was against that backdrop that in 1955, Weaver – now NBC president – ripped apart the NBC Radio model¹ to inaugurate a weekend radio service called Monitor.

This new concept called for NBC to provide 40 continuous hours of programming, starting at 8 am on Saturday. During those 40 hours, the program would hop from story to story, event to event, depending on what was going on. One moment you might hear a live remote from an airplane crossing the Atlantic. A few minutes later the program might have an interview with an author. A few minutes after that, you might hear a live band performance from a Manhattan night spot. At the top of each hour, there would be a news update. Holding each block together, your guide as the program hopscotched from feature to feature, was someone who wasn’t called a host, but styled in Weaver-ese as a “communicator.” And the program’s signature wasn’t a piece of music – or, at least, not music in a conventional sense. Instead, it was a distinctive, layered series of beeps, blips and boops performing their own strange tune – the tones of the Monitor Beacon.²

And who should be one of the first Monitor communicators? None other than our own Dave Garroway. When Monitor started, Dave was coming off a long-form weekend radio program called Sunday with Garroway (later in its run, Friday with Garroway). Dave’s easygoing style wore well in long-form programming, and thus he was brought in on the new Monitor concept early on. He hosted a run-through of the concept that was shared during a closed-circuit pitch to affiliates in April 1955. And Dave was also there on the very first Monitor segment on June 12, giving the latest news headlines.³

Garroway stayed on Monitor during its first five years, most often occupying a Sunday night slot. He was an excellent, easygoing choice for Sunday evenings. And sometimes he had some memorable moments – for instance, his famous 1955 interview with Marilyn Monroe. But as easygoing as Dave sounded, his Sunday night duties on Monitor added yet another layer to his complicated, over-scheduled life, which included hosting Today and another Weaver innovation, the high-concept Sunday television series Wide Wide World.

Monitor adapted with the times. It cut back on its hours as the industry changed. Its content became less ambitious; although live remotes could still happen, by the mid-1960s its staples were recorded segments and the pop hits of the moment.⁴ By the 1970s it was fairly well removed from what it had been, and in an effort to find new life NBC brought in such on-air personalities as Wolfman Jack and Don Imus.⁵

In 1975 NBC pulled the plug on Monitor, and on that final weekend the program looked back on nineteen and a half years of memories. Among the moments recalled on that final program were some involving Dave Garroway, who took part in a farewell interview. Monitor is long gone, but its influence lives on – for instance, I can’t help listening to NPR’s All Things Considered without noticing some of Monitor in its DNA.⁶

Happily, Monitor also remains with us in a vibrant online tribute. Dennis Hart (who literally wrote the book on Monitor) maintains the terrific Monitor Tribute Pages website. There, you can not only see some neat photos and read terrific recollections from Monitor‘s staff and listeners, but you can listen to dozens and dozens of preserved Monitor segments. And luckily for us, there’s a few clips from Dave Garroway’s reign as a Monitor communicator. Do yourself a favor and spend some time there – but if you end up spending hours on end enjoying all that splendid audio, consider yourself warned.⁷

:: Manuscript progress: you’ll be happy to know the manuscript is approaching 54,000 words. And I haven’t even started digging into the really big sources of information! But even with what I have done so far, I can promise that this book will give you a perspective on Dave Garroway unlike any you’ve ever before read. It’s a tale that’s well worth the effort to tell, and I believe you’re going to enjoy it – and you’ll be puzzled why it hasn’t been told before. Stay tuned.

The other side of the set

Today‘s first home, the RCA Exhibition Hall on 49th Street, is an ongoing fascination for me. Unfortunately, among the buildings of Rockefeller Center, it’s too often lost as an obscurity.

The building itself is still there – it’s now occupied by Christie’s auction house, which extensively remodeled the place but kept those big windows – but good luck finding much about its past. Which is why a find like the one you’re about to see is something else.

Let’s take a moment to look back on that first day of Today, January 14, 1952:

This is as far to the viewer’s left as the set went, and it’s where the big newspaper board was set up. But in some shots you can tell there’s something more back there, and it looks like people are looking on from behind the newspaper board. Why is that? Because only a portion of the RCA Exhibition Hall was used for the Today set.

Thanks to the January 1954 issue of RCA’s house publication, Radio Age, we can get an idea of what you would have seen on the other side of that board.

That panoramic view shows you the remainder of the RCA Exhibition Hall, which continued to serve its original function. (There wasn’t really a big white line; that’s an artifact from how the magazine printed the photo across two pages.) On the right-hand side of that panorama, look at what you see:

Just up that set of steps is the Today set. Which, believe it or not, was incorporated into the Exhibition Hall as a display in itself. When the building opened to the general public in late morning, after Today had gone off the air for the day, visitors could get a look at it as an example of how RCA technology was involved in the production of a daily news program.

Many thanks and much gratitude to the folks at American Radio History for digitizing this and hundreds of other vintage broadcast industry publications. You can check out this issue of Radio Age – and dozens of others – here.

From the Kuklapolitan Opera House, it’s Dave Garroway

The battle over color television – the RCA “compatible color” system against the CBS-developed mechanical color system – is an epic in itself, and has been ably chronicled by others. (A great place to start is here.) That said, the years-long effort left us with some interesting artifacts, and if you’re fortunate you can find some surprises.

Some time ago, some good people compiled and restored a whole lot of kinescoped episodes of Kukla, Fran and Ollie.¹ The restored episodes have been released on DVD, and they’re a fun way to visit the gentle world Burr Tillstrom created. They have a time-capsule quality to them, and not just because the commercials are still in them. Sometimes famous people from the era make guest appearances: Dennis Day, Jose Greco, and even a certain bespectacled former disc jockey we know and love.

Burr Tillstrom and Oliver J. Dragon with our Dave. (NBC photo)

In the third disc set is a special treat: a compilation of footage from experimental color broadcasts, as well as footage of some of the Kuklapolitans goofing around before a performance recorded for the 1964 World’s Fair. (All, unfortunately, are only in black and white. The color tests were not preserved on color film.) The first color test, done in 1949, is a simple affair that was done as a limited broadcast to the FCC and RCA officials. But the 1953 color test, which was aired over the network as a real test of compatible color², pulled out the stops. For this special broadcast, NBC presented Kukla, Fran and Ollie in a production of “St. George and the Dragon.” They had performed it in Boston on June 7, with Arthur Fiedler conducting. It had been received very well. So NBC decided to stage a repeat performance as part of a color test, and it aired August 30. For one afternoon, the Colonial Theater in New York – where NBC learned how to work in color – became the Kuklapolitan Opera House. Arthur Fiedler would again conduct for this very special performance, this time leading the NBC Summer Symphony.

Really neat title card. I bet it looked great in color. (NBC photo)

And they’d need a host. Someone who could lend the appropriate dignified whimsy to the proceedings. Who might that be?

“How do you do, ladies and gentlemen?” (NBC photo)

There he is: our Dave, speaking to us from Box 44 at the Kuklapolitan Opera House in New York³, from which point NBC is about to bring us another afternoon of fine opera.

Dave’s doing his imitation of Metropolitan Opera radio host Milton Cross as he introduces the performance. You may not be able to tell from the screen grab, but he’s having fun with the Milton Cross style, too. The broadcast was sponsored by the Society For Improving Relations Between Dragons and Other People.

And at the end of the performance, of course, it wouldn’t be Dave without his trademark benediction. “From the Kuklapolitan Opera House, we bid you good afternoon…and peace.”

Really classy closing credit card. That was NBC, though, back in the day. (NBC photo)

To find out how to get your own set of these priceless compilations, go here. They’re highly (and warmly) recommended.

“I Lead a Goofy Life”: Dave Garroway, 1956

My colleague Brandon alerted me to a nifty flashback item on the Saturday Evening Post‘s website. In February 1956, the Post published an article under Garroway’s byline (well, an “as told to” byline, at least) titled “I Lead a Goofy Life.” In it, Dave talked about the strange occurrences that happen when you host an early-morning program, set in a big fishbowl of a studio, in which your assistants include a Miss America and a young chimpanzee. Better still, there’s a link to the entire article, viewable in its original layout, at the bottom of the entry. It’s a fun article. Go check it out.

“Mad Men” meets “Today,” 1954

By early 1954 Today was doing well. Part of it came from the program finding its focus. Part of it came from the addition of J. Fred Muggs to the program. But to the executives whose decisions meant life or death for a television program, what mattered was the revenue. And thanks to a talented and motivated sales staff, Today had become a solid and successful buy for advertisers of all sorts – many of whom wanted Dave Garroway to do the commercials for them.¹ And thanks to Sponsor Magazine senior editor Charles Sinclair, who was given an unusual assignment in early 1954, we have an inside glimpse into the advertising aspect of Today – and of what it was like on the inside during an average day’s routine.²

Sinclair’s boss had assigned him to spend time with the Cunningham and Walsh agency³ and write about what the average agency man went through in a week. His very first assignment? Assisting with the live spots that the E.R. Squibb company had purchased on Today. So at 5:30 on Monday morning, he was shivering outside the Exhibition Hall⁴, waiting for the account’s supervisor, Tom De Huff, to arrive. When he did, a few minutes later, the two entered the building. “Garroway had just arrived and was surrounded, like a Queen Bee, by a covey of production coordinators, sports writers, newsmen and technical men,” Sinclair noted.

Garroway with Charles Sinclair (center) and agency rep Tom De Huff. (Sponsor Magazine photo)

Sinclair and De Huff walked down the long ramp to the downstairs reception room, near the control room. He noted “a long table around which sat half a dozen people drinking coffee poured by a white-coated waiter everyone called ‘Major.'” De Huff, who knew the program’s customs, explained that this was known as the “Telop One Club.”⁵ Over coffee and cigarettes, they discussed the spots Garroway would do for Squibb products. Dick Jackson, the network’s senior unit manager for Today, soon joined them and said the spots for Squibb appeared to be simple enough. “That’s a break for us today because we’re loaded to the top,” Jackson said, naming at least seven major clients who had booked time on the broadcast.⁶ “We think Garroway works best when there are no elaborate gimmicks, no tricky cues and no fancy art.”

When De Huff was a little concerned how the package would look on television, Jackson took the package upstairs and the two ad men went down the hall to a nearby viewing room to watch the camera check. In the room were a couple of representatives from other agencies. One of them, a pretty young girl, said she thought the whole thing was a lot of fun. “Not if you have to come in from Westport,” grumbled the other ad rep, fighting off drowsiness at ten after six. Over the monitors in the screening room the men watched Garroway rehearse each commercial in the lineup. He soon got to the Squibb spots, and they noted with approval the way Garroway read the copy and displayed the products.

At seven the program began, and after a news break the Squibb commercial went as scheduled, with no surprises. Sinclair told De Huff that he’d hate to be up at 4:30 each day “just to play nursemaid to a minute’s worth of commercial.” De Huff replied that he only had to be there about two times a month, when Squibb had a new product or a new pitch. “The rest of the time we let Garroway do the commercial in his own style.” He then suggested the two adjourn for some breakfast. “It was 10 minutes after eight,” Sinclair wrote. “The sun was up, people on their way to work were staring through the huge glass windows at Garroway; the Telop One Club was in full swing.”

The longest night, 1960

Today is Election Day here in the States, and all of us here at Garroway at Large World Headquarters are gonna go to the polls and do our civic duty. (We certainly hope you’ll do the same.) I’ll be spending the evening helping some students put some local election returns on our little radio station. My hope is that the local results will come in fairly quickly, we can wrap up our coverage at a reasonable hour, and we won’t end up with our own version of what happened on the night of November 8, 1960, when – as many of you know – things literally went all night and into the next day.

Many years ago the A&E cable network (back when you could tell the name stood for “Arts and Entertainment”) carried a two-hour highlights package of NBC’s coverage of that election. It’s really interesting to watch; you get to see Chet Huntley and David Brinkley in prime form, broadcasting from their perch above Studio 8H; you get to see John Chancellor and Sander Vanocur and Frank McGee and Merrill Mueller anchoring the regional desks; you get some really cool Hjalmar Hermanson set design, including the trademark X-shaped anchor desk; and you get all sorts of period-appropriate fun, including Richard Harkness minding a snazzy RCA computer that’s worked into the coverage as a neat bit of corporate synergy. It’s a good way to spend a slow afternoon. And as it becomes apparent the story’s not going to end any time soon, you get to see the anchors and correspondents deal with the fact they’re getting tired and nothing is happening.

But when the story stretches into the next morning, there’s a really nifty surprise, because look who stops by the aerie high over 8H:

(Bonus content! For another view from a little later, here you go.)

Enjoy! (And go vote!)

August 1959: “No longer by dawn’s early light”

Our journey through TV Guide‘s examinations of Dave Garroway continues on. Today’s piece examines a big and slightly controversial change at how his flagship broadcast was produced.

“Garroway No Longer Will Work By Dawn’s Early Light” read the headline in the August 1, 1959 TV Guide. “Thanks to tape, Dave will be able to live like most of us,” read the sub-head. NBC would begin videotaping each Today program the preceding afternoon starting in September.

Producer Bob Bendick told TV Guide the change would allow more scope. “There are more things happening at 4 in the afternoon than at 7 in the morning,” he said. “We’ll be able to cover many stories that we could never do before, including activities on the West Coast.”

Garroway and most of his staff were reportedly happy with the change, though they would miss the amusing little things that could happen when guests had to be awakened to be on the program. Dave told a story of when production assistant Estelle Parsons was sent to pick up Ava Gardner at her hotel, only to find Gardner had locked the doors and refused to answer through any means Parsons tried. “So Estelle returned to the studio and we put her on camera to impersonate Ava,” Garroway said. “She did a beautiful job.”

In another instance, Garroway remembered when the United States Olympic weightlifting team appeared on the program. Before the program, they asked for some coffee. Five minutes later, one of them “sheepishly” asked an attendant for help…because he couldn’t pull the stopper from the coffee jug. The attendant popped it right out. “At least we won’t be serving so much coffee when we move to afternoons,” Garroway laughed. Other incidents, including the morning George Jessel foiled an invitation for Harry Truman to come in, were mentioned.¹

Bendick explained that an afternoon taping would allow the staff to keep a better grip on what’s going on. He explained that at 7 a.m., they could never get a good report on what was going on in Congress. “At 4 p.m., Congress is in session. We hope to be able to move our cameras someday right into the Senate corridors, into committee rooms.” Afternoon tapings might also open opportunities for Garroway to go on location – for instance, to a Broadway theater to talk with performers while an afternoon rehearsal was underway. Likewise, they could drop in on baseball or football games in progress, with Jack Lescoulie covering them. “And if we want to interview a baseball personality such as Casey Stengel or Yogi Berra, think how much better it will be for Jack to talk to them at Yankee Stadium. Until now, we had to invite them to visit our studio at 7 a.m,” Bendick said.

While the bulk of the program would be taped, the periodic news reports from Frank Blair would continue to be done live. Bendick promised that if a big story broke during the night, “we’ll be prepared to go live with the entire show,” with the entire staff notified to show up and go on live.

The article stated Garroway and the staff saw the benefits of videotaping during Today‘s visit to Paris. They also learned that it was better to do the entire program straight through, as if being done live, rather than taping segments out of sequence and assembling them for broadcast.

One more issue Bendick hoped the move would solve was the search for a new “women’s editor.” Betsy Palmer had left the show some months before, and the early hours played a role in her departure. Several women had tried out for the role after Palmer’s departure. Bendick hoped an afternoon taping might make an aspirant more likely to stay on, which meant “her personal and professional lives will not have to conflict.” He noted, however, that “no girl who has auditioned has complained that the 7 a.m. starting time was too rough.” Bendick also said they’d know when they’d found the right girl: “All the meters in the place will go ‘boing’ at the same time.”

Gehman on Garroway: “Portrait Of A Tormented Man”

A couple weeks ago we looked at a 1954 Esquire article Richard Gehman wrote about Today. Close to seven years later, now writing for TV Guide, Gehman returned to the Today studio to observe Dave Garroway in action. But in that time, much had changed both with the program and with the master communicator. Stories regularly circulated about staff shake-ups, of fits of temper from an unhappy Garroway. And, of course, the sudden death of Pamela Garroway in April 1961 compounded things. Soon after her passing, Garroway announced he would leave Today.

The first part of Gehman’s article ran in the July 15, 1961 TV Guide.¹ A box on the cover promised, “Dave Garroway: Portrait of a Tormented Man.” A subhead in the spread stated, “His peaceful television image belies a seething personality.”

Perhaps our understanding of this article will be helped by a look at Richard Gehman’s style. In their terrific study Changing Channels: America in TV Guide², Glenn Altschuler and David Grossvogel wrote that freelancer Gehman, who contributed many articles for TV Guide, was the kind of writer appreciated by editorial director Merrill Panitt. For the sort of respected publication Panitt and publisher Walter Annenberg wanted TV Guide to become, they felt that celebrity profiles shouldn’t gush; instead, they should probe. Panitt told Altschuler and Grossvogel that where other magazines gushed, TV Guide “looked for warts.” And Richard Gehman’s work, they wrote, “helped change the direction of the magazine.”

Gehman, they noted, grounded “virtually every profile in popular psychology.” He also employed the “new journalism” technique of placing himself in the story as participant or observer. And another calling card was his use of literary allusions. In “Portrait of a Tormented Man,” we see those techniques at work as Gehman tries to capture the essence of Garroway, who turned 48 in July 1961, as he seeks the next chapter in his life.³

Gehman leads off with a literary allusion, comparing a Christmas party for the Today staff to a Roman bacchanalia which “would have delighted a contemporary Edward Gibbon.” While others at the party lived it up, Garroway “sat near the center of the saturnalia, his bony face expressing boredom that was close to despair,” perhaps wishing he were instead working on one of his cars or relaxing with his telescope. “Whenever anyone approached, Garroway forced a wan, Proustian smile. He spoke cordially but with obvious effort.” Less than an hour into the party, Garroway left.

Why? Associates repeated things Gehman had heard for years – he’s shy, hard to know – and a Today director called Garroway a “cold fish” who “can’t warm up to people in the flesh.” But to Gehman, the best explanation came from a passage in Nathanael West’s The Day of the Locust, describing the protagonist as “really a very complicated young man with a whole set of personalities, one inside the other like a nest of Chinese boxes.” Gehman wrote that the phrase could have been written for Garroway. “For 14 years, off and on, he has been seeing a psychiatrist in an effort to learn what is inside those boxes. And what he has learned is that there are more boxes.”

To Gehman, the conflicting aspects of Garroway’s personality – a man who could engage in breezy, light conversation and then moments later opine about dark scenarios that Communist agents had already hidden small atomic bombs in major cities, and describe his own Manhattan bomb shelter in great detail, including a supply of Seconal capsules (“better to go that way than to die horribly of radiation”) – made the real Garroway hard to define, and Gehman found the man’s own explanations contradictory. Although Garroway stayed aloof to most people, he claimed to enjoy the company of others. “Yet there was a period when he seldom ventured out before he had disguised his face with cotton wads slipped into his nostrils and cheeks and under his upper lip. ‘It made me look mean and feel mean; it got me into two fights,’ he told me.”⁴

Now, Gehman wrote, “he no longer disguises himself except with an air of impenetrable calm,” stylized by the famous “peace” signoff, which he also used “to bid farewell, to express approval, or to get out of arguments. Or, in the majority of cases, to shun small talk.” Garroway admitted he had difficulty relating, but insisted it helped him with the casual style he had on the air; in front of the camera, he felt he could be himself. His in-person aloofness, his preference for spending time with gadgets instead of people, didn’t come across to home viewers. “They think he loves them. They regard him as an old friend who is welcome to drop by for breakfast any morning,” Gehman wrote. One morning Garroway lamented that American-made screwdrivers no longer had wooden handles; within days his office was inundated with packages from viewers, sending him wooden-handled screwdrivers.

Viewer loyalty to Garroway made Today a very profitable program for NBC, and Garroway was handsomely rewarded for it (more than $350,000 a year). But Gehman wrote that for more than two years Garroway had been unhappy because “he has been forced to work under what has seemed to him mysterious pressures, not only from sponsors but from the NBC brass.”

Complicating things, Gehman wrote, was Garroway’s home life. “Garroway’s moody introversion has made him not only hard to know but also to live with,” he wrote. When he married his second wife, Garroway was not aware of what Gehman called her “unhappy girlhood” and that she was “a highly emotional young woman.” Her psychoanalyst would not discuss her case with Garroway, citing ethical reasons. Late in April, while Garroway was spending a weekend at their summer home on Long Island, his wife was found dead in their Manhattan townhome, having overdosed on sleeping pills. On May 29, Garroway announced he would be leaving Today.

The second half of Gehman’s profile, in the July 22 issue⁵, tries to get inside Garroway’s head through a biographical approach. Gehman writes that Today‘s variety, and the departure of its host, couldn’t be attributed to one answer. “There are several, all as intertwined as Garroway’s several personalities.” And his closest associates “argue about what makes him tick – and about whether or not he does tick.” (“He doesn’t,” said former Today director Mike Zeamer. “He hums, like an electronic watch.”)

And here Gehman uses his favorite tactic, putting Garroway on the analyst’s couch and tracing that “humming” to a childhood spent moving from one place to another. He describes Garroway as “a shy, withdrawn youth who found communication with strangers difficult, perhaps because he met so many,” having attended 21 different schools by the time he graduated high school. “It may have been his desire to make people like him by entertaining them that led him eventually into radio, as an announcer,” Gehman writes.⁶

In a few paragraphs Gehman traces Garroway’s two decades or so in broadcasting, from his start as an NBC page through the birth of his style in wartime Hawaii, through the Chicago years and his tenure on Today, and his role in turning the show into “a reflection of his many interests. Also, he says frankly, it is a reflection of his shortcomings, for he does not have time to prepare adequately for the many different spots he is called upon to fill.” Gehman notes that Garroway has made mistakes for this reason, criticizes the program as “often shallow,” and that Garroway’s behavior has sometimes seemed excessive, citing an on-camera confrontation with a delegate from a Communist-controlled country that came across as “a disjointed argument on Communism.” Garroway insisted to Gehman that he spoke up because he feels anti-communists had a duty to do so. “Because he has spoken up so many times, he is certain that if the Russians ever defeat us, he will be one of the first to be liquidated.”

The article concludes with Gehman’s account of being with Garroway in Studio 3B⁷ during a May 29 rehearsal, right after Garroway announced he was leaving the program. Around Garroway nearly fifty people were busy with the varied tasks that went into recording each day’s program. At one point a woman slipped into the studio and approached Garroway, saying, “Darling, are you ready to go?” Garroway calmly replied, “Just a minute. I’ll get my stuff,” and gave what Gehman called “a significant look” at a nearby page, who escorted the woman away. A few moments later, someone brought Garroway’s four-year-old son into the studio, and the host put aside his preparations to visit with his child. Not five seconds later, someone summoned Garroway to the phone to talk with an upcoming guest. Gehman noticed that as Garroway was on the phone, he played with his keys – “a huge bunch, two whole handfuls, symbolic of the locks and barriers that make prisoners of all stars in television. He obviously was tense, holding himself inside the Dave Garroway shell with an immense effort.” But the moment the show was to go on, Garroway put aside his nervous tics, smiled, turned to the camera, and became “the Garroway his audiences know.” Producer Fred Freed whispered to Gehman, “How he’s been able to do this for damned near 10 years, I’ll never tell you.”

After the taping ended at 6:30, Garroway went to an appointment with his psychiatrist, then was back home at 7:45 for dinner with his three children. But he couldn’t relax, as the phone constantly rang with reporters wanting to know why he was leaving Today. Garroway patiently told them he wanted to refresh himself, read books, travel, take stock of himself, and rest. But Gehman said he had learned “through reliable sources” that Garroway and NBC had been at odds for two years because the network wanted him to stress entertainment. In addition, Gehman said, Garroway’s home life had already been unhappy for two years, and then the shock of his wife’s death made him stop and review his life.

“I find my attitudes, after nearly 10 years for Today, have standardized themselves into about 25 different cliches,” he told Gehman over a drink that night. “I’m tired of them and everybody else must be.” But Garroway saw himself getting back on television at some point. “I’ve got four years to go on my NBC contract. Relations are amiable now. I’ll be back – but I don’t know, right now, how or when.”⁸

The Rube Goldberg Hour

As television production was being carved from the wilderness, some things worked better than others. Live production was challenging enough in a regular studio with two or three cameras and simple switching from the nearby control room. Throw in additional elements – live remotes, telop cards, film chains, you name it – and the chances of things going wrong went up even more. On Today, one of the most ambitious and technically complicated programs on the air in the early 1950s, flubs were inevitable.

In the early days of Today, the program originated from the RCA Exhibition Hall¹, across 49th Street from NBC’s facilities inside 30 Rockefeller Plaza. But while the program was directed from a control room downstairs from the studio floor, additional elements had to originate from inside 30 Rock. And one source of constant angst was the coordination of filmed pieces, which were ordered up from the control room and had to be inserted from inside the main facilities across the street.

In a 1954 Esquire article about Garroway and Today, writer Richard Gehman² described the challenges of bringing it all together. Sometimes the wrong film came up (Gehman mentioned a morning when Garroway announced, “We take you now to Ambrose Lightship!” and instead a film of the Vienna State Opera appeared). Other times, the timing was off, since the film machine required five seconds to get going up to speed. Gehman noted that if the director didn’t give an on-time cue to the assistant director to tell the film technical director to “roll up” the film machine, viewers might see numbered leader film or an empty screen. “Considering the difficult timing involved,” Gehman wrote, “it is miraculous that such horrors do not appear more often.”

But other times, film goofs weren’t the fault of the control room. Today writer and managing editor Gerald Green³, interviewed by Jeff Kisseloff for the great oral history The Box, told of an ongoing frustration with Garroway and Jim Fleming that led to film problems. In their copy, on-camera talent say certain words that serve as a cue for the control room to roll a particular piece of prerecorded material – appropriately enough, this is called a “roll cue.” Green remembered that he had difficulty getting Garroway or Fleming to read their roll cues as prescribed – instead, they’d ad-lib and since the roll cue wasn’t given, no film would follow. After the program, when they would ask Green what happened to the film, he would reply, “Read your roll cue and you’ll get the film on time.”⁴

Green remembered that when he was managing editor, he’d watch Today from his home and watch Garroway or Fleming ad-lib, miss the roll cue, and then muse aloud that there was supposed to be film to go with this. Green would shout at his television, “Run it! Run the damn film!”⁵

All of which led to the evening Green was in the kitchen, and from the den he heard his young daughter yelling. He went in to see what was the matter. In the den, he saw his daughter watching Felix the Cat. Sure enough, she was yelling at the television: “Run it! Run the damn film!”⁶