You’ve read my musings before about how I wish more of the video and audio treasures of yesteryear would be preserved and made available through the Internet for those of us who care. And in that regard, the American Archive of Public Broadcasting is working miracles at a steady pace. But a few weeks ago, I found something that made me very happy, and I think it will make you happy too.
In 1962 Dave Garroway, seeking a new mission after leaving Today and NBC, became host of a series titled Exploring the Universe. This series, produced for National Educational Television (the forerunner, of sorts, of what we now know as PBS) with a grant from the National Science Foundation, explored different realms of the scientific world, explained various scientific concepts to viewers, and featured in-studio visits from renowned scientists who talked with Garroway about science.
I could try explaining it, or I could just let you see it for yourself, as the AAPB has brought us a collection of episodes, for you to watch at your pleasure. And what better way to begin than at the beginning? Enjoy.
— It has not been my intention to disappear as I have of late. Unfortunately, I have been suffering from something called “demands exceeding available time and attention,” a condition not uncommon to those in my line of work, especially at this point in the academic year. Be that as it may, I am happy to report that new research materials have been coming in great quantity, thanks in particular to a reader who has been extremely helpful. The materials are here, as are the ideas – I just need to free up some time to turn them into something tangible. But it will get done. As Frank McGee would say, “Don’t go far.”
In this screengrab from the July 16 webstream of the CBS News coverage of the Apollo 11 liftoff, Arthur C. Clarke talks with Walter Cronkite. (CBS photo)
As I write this, we’re observing the fiftieth anniversary of the flight of Apollo 11. There’s a list of on-air commemorations as long as your arm, airing on all kinds of channels. Some of them are good, even if some of them have hit the same beats that every documentary already has. A handful have been truly excellent, unearthing new material and new perspectives (see the wide-ranging, unexpectedly moving Chasing the Moon or the outstanding Apollo 11).
But one media organization did something truly spectacular. On July 16, CBS streamed its live coverage, as originally aired that day 50 years before, of the launch of Apollo 11 (and made it available afterward on YouTube). It wasn’t just the highlights, either – the stream began with the start of that morning’s coverage, at 6 a.m., and carried you through until the astronauts were in Earth orbit. It was nearly four and a half hours of coverage. Better still, you truly saw it as it aired – with network commercials still there (a young Ali MacGraw wearing a paper bikini in an ad for International Paper; a bizarre minimalist ad for Maxim freeze-dried coffee; a really mod commercial for Corn Flakes with a multi-picture montage straight out of Saul Bass; Western Electric musing that this new innovation called a laser could revolutionize communications). Not only that, but the CBS Morning News from that morning was also included, and there you could find glimpses of what else was going on in the nation and the world that historic morning. And since the recording originated at the CBS O&O in New York, you even got local breaks and station IDs from WCBS-TV. All in about as good a transfer from the original videotape as you could ask for, looking vivid and colorful.
To me, what CBS did was like Christmas morning. It hit so many sweet spots for me: my love of spaceflight history, my love of broadcast history, my love of those little time-capsule moments that let you experience how a moment must have felt. It lets you realize that even in historic moments, life isn’t a highlight reel. There’s a lot of waiting. Sometimes the most interesting thing is Wally Schirra, retired astronaut who’s there as the color guy, pointing out to Walter Cronkite that a clock in the little studio at the Cape isn’t working. Sometimes it’s dull. But so did it happen in real time, in 1969. There’s no narration, no editing beyond what the director called during the broadcast that morning.
CBS gave us all a wonderful gift by putting this coverage out there, as it aired. Yeah, so it has those banners across the bottom, but to me the wonder of seeing so much that I’d only heard of, but never been able to see, could make me overlook that. Streaming this coverage was, in many ways, the perfect way to observe this anniversary. It’s fun. It generated a lot of happy buzz around the Interwebs. And it makes me wish we saw this kind of thing more often.
I think, for instance, about the archival Garroway material that I’ve seen and heard. I remember how much of it was listed on the old NBC News Archives site, some of which was actually posted for viewing in screener form. There was no better way for me to understand the tenor of Garroway in any given period than to watch some of that footage. But then NBC’s archive changed its website, and its policies, and what was there is no longer accessible. A valuable resource to my research was suddenly gone.
I know that network archives can be extensive, and are understaffed. I also know it takes effort and equipment to digitize old media, and that it costs to do it. I also know that in some instances you get into various licensing issues, too. But I also know there’s a lot of it out there that’s already been digitized – and I know this because I’ve seen it, from official network sources. And sometimes that’s the rub. The material exists, but you can’t see it, and not unless you’re a documentary or feature film producer with deep enough pockets will you see it.
The archives are valuable properties for licensing. And I get that. And this footage is the property of the networks, and it’s theirs to do with as they wish. But I also think about the value to history that exists by making this stuff available for people to view and to experience once again, in all their imperfect splendor. If you want people to experience a moment, there’s no better way.
That’s why I applaud CBS for what it’s done with its Apollo 11 coverage. It was a bold thing to do, but it was the right one, and it’s an example of the flexibility the online streaming platforms allow these days. May we see more networks follow the lead of CBS, crack the doors of the vaults a little wider, and share more widely the moments from the past, exactly as they were back then.
Thanks to the Middlebury College Archives (and thanks to my collaborator Brandon for discovering this!), there’s some further vintage Garroway to enjoy: about ten minutes of a program titled Kickoff 1953, a program introducing the college football season (and promoting NBC’s efforts to cover said season, a hosting job that perhaps was tied in with appearance obligations in his NBC contract). It’s not the complete program, but it’s still a treat. Here you see Garroway in fine handsome form, at the height of his easy charm, his voice still a purr, able to make hosting a complicated program with a lot of scripted lines seem as spontaneous as a warm conversation with a friend. There’s plenty there in this wonderful time capsule, so go check it out.
:: We’ve been silent of late, I know. It’s for good reason: I’ve been busy overseeing about a dozen day-job things (it’s our summer break, but the work never ends) and about a dozen other demands on my time. The good news is that my muse has apparently returned from sunning itself in Boca Raton or whatever, and I’ve begun again to chip away at the manuscript for the book. Good things are happening. Stay tuned.
We’ve mentioned from time to time how Dave Garroway was much in demand as a spokesman. But while much has been said and written about it, you don’t often get to see him practice the salesmanship skills that made him so appealing to sponsors. There’s just so little surviving material from those times.
Thanks to the Internet Archive (and also with thanks to Brandon for bringing this film to my attention!), we now have a few minutes of Dave displaying his unique style of one-on-one messaging. From 1960, here’s a film from Watkins Products introducing its newest salesman, one with a remarkable ability to call on thousands of homes at once. More than anything else I’ve seen, this really captures just how good Dave was as a spokesman. Watch it, and enjoy.
The other day I was talking with a colleague about the realities of television production and how being in charge means handling unforeseen circumstances with decisiveness and dispatch…especially on a live show. It reminded me of a story Charlie Andrews (Dave’s favorite writer and best friend) told in an oral history interview. Since nobody could tell it as well as he does, listen to Charlie talk about a live commercial1 that came very close to going off the rails, and learn for yourself what separates the professionals from the rest:
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.)
Last week I talked a bit about unreliable narrators, the importance of verifying information, and the process a historian must go through to make sure what’s written is as accurate as possible. This week, let’s take a look at this in action with a couple of examples, one that’s kind of related to Garroway and one that isn’t. We’ll handle the non-Garroway example first as a warm-up to how these kinds of myths begin.
Ask anybody about women in 1950s television and the name Betty Furness comes up past a certain point.1 Betty became a presence as a spokesperson for Westinghouse, famously demonstrating new appliances and opening refrigerator doors and so forth on live television. That mention of “refrigerator door” will inevitably get people talking about the night Betty Furness couldn’t get the refrigerator door to open and what a fiasco that was. And it’s a great story…except that Betty Furness wasn’t in town that night, and another lady (June Graham) was filling in for her:
And just so you’ll see the difference, here’s Betty Furness:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3r2uq9ulRU
Now, let’s take a look at a story more directly related to Dave Garroway. And since it’s a story involving J. Fred Muggs, I will have to tell it carefully2, but I will tell it regardless.
There is a story that involves J. Fred Muggs biting Martha Raye. Since it involves Muggs, the assumption is automatically made that the incident happened on Today, and it’s kind of become part of the program’s mythology since many stories are out there of Muggs’ less-than-likable antics as he grew older.3 But what does the evidence tell us?
Well, do a little digging in the stacks and you find the story’s more complicated. You find out that Muggs, who was often a guest on other programs, was doing a guest spot on Martha Raye’s own television program. The incident happened April 17, 1954, as this wire service story published in the following Monday’s Minneapolis Star Tribune (among other papers) outlines:
And Life magazine provided photographic evidence, as well as a write-up, in this article (there are more photos of the Muggs incident a couple or three pages in).
What’s the lesson of it all? It’s that you have to check these things out. And it’s not just in regards to television history; it’s in any form of history.4 Just because a story sounds great doesn’t mean it’s true. It is the job of the historian to sort through all the available evidence (and seek every bit of it humanly possible), then write from that.
– We begin this week with a happy programming note: the Wide Wide Blog is now a member of the Classic TV Blog Association. Learn more about it and find links to many marvelous affiliated blogs here (and I’ll install the blogroll here as soon as I can find a way to make it play happy with the format I use here). It’s an esteemed group (which includes some friends of mine) and I’m happy to have the Wide Wide Blog in among these good folks and their work.
– Another happy note is that the manuscript continues to grow a little more each day. I set a goal of at least 100 words a day on it, and if I don’t get that done, it weighs on me (something about a work ethic that was instilled in me at a tender age). But it continues to grow and I learn new things all the time.
And sometimes, those things aren’t what they seem to be. One challenge a biographer faces is that when you’re dealing with any account, you’re dealing with a limited perspective. Memory does strange things. Four eyewitnesses will have four different accounts. (“Wow, Rashomon was an interesting movie.” “That’s not how I remember it.”)
Sometimes we’re lucky in that we find documentary evidence that tells us how things actually went. For instance, one file contains a typewritten recollection Garroway wrote of that very first morning on Today, the last seconds before the show went on the air. He writes about how he “realized that I had better say something quickly of an inspirational nature, something wise and to the point, preferably with a little humor in it.” And it’s a great account…except what he says he said (“Good morning – it’s Today on NBC”) was nothing like what he actually said. And we know this because the kinescope tells us so:
But other times, we’re not as fortunate. And that’s where the biographer becomes a detective. How much can you find out about the circumstances? What was going on? Can you find newspaper clippings about whatever it is? (I’ll write next week about one particularly famous episode that took on a life of its own, one that has been incorrectly attributed to Today, that a newspaper search finally put the nails in.) Have others written about it? Are there photographs? If it involves a location, do those aspects add up? (Some claims are geographically impossible once you look at a map.) Did the building even exist then? You get the idea.
And sometimes you can’t find a definitive answer. What to do then? Well, sometimes you have to acknowledge the ambiguity. I had to do that in the book I just finished writing, when a family member claimed that the subject of my book had been involved in some covert operations. They were interesting claims and the account in question seemed oddly detailed, but I only had that relative’s claims to go on. All the physical evidence that would have nailed down the claim had disappeared decades before (and sadly, appears to have been thrown out along with other family papers when her children were going through her effects after her passing – not out of malice, not out of covering anything up, but out of one of those things that happens when effects are gone through and discarded after someone passes). The information was too good not to include, but I had to qualify it, acknowledging that it was based on a single source and that only a secondhand account backed it up, and though I found circumstantial evidence in my subject’s surviving papers, it wasn’t the more concrete substantiation I’d love to have had.
This is why history and biography are more difficult to write than they may appear. If it were easy, I could just rewrite the drafts of Garroway’s unfinished autobiography, throw in anecdotes I found from others, and call it done, and my only effort would be the time I put into typing it all up. That might be fun, but what kind of contribution would it be to history? It would be a souvenir, but I’m not sure it would be an accurate reflection of the man and his times. It would frustrate future historians, who look to these kinds of works as references as they write their own new works (and it’s amazing how hard it is to kill an inaccurate story; once it’s committed to print, it’s often taken as gospel, and I’ve seen great historians repeat long-discredited stories in their own works because the works they trusted repeated said stories).
And such a work would be filtered through Garroway’s own perspective, and thus limited – just as we limit our own perspectives when we tell our own stories. And memory being the funny thing it can be, sometimes things don’t add up. I’ve lost track of how often I could have sworn under oath that a thing I remembered went a certain way, only to go back and find irrefutable evidence that it was far different than I recalled.
And that’s part of why the historian and biographer must take a step back, read through claims and stories and verify them, and above all employ good judgment and sound thinking. Then again, that’s just good advice for life, period.
Next week we’ll take a closer look at this concept, using that story I mentioned above as a case study.
As work continues on the manuscript (now more than 14,000 words, by the way), sometimes it’s useful to take a break and watch a video or two. In that spirit, here’s a little offering of interest: a clip from the 1948 film I Surrender, Dear. The entire clip is interesting because it gives you a glimpse into what radio was like in the immediate postwar years, but the last minute or so is really interesting for our purposes. Take a look and enjoy.
It’s a given, almost as if guaranteed by some kind of law of nature, that any discussion of the Garroway era on Today will mention J. Fred Muggs. And, yes, it’s important to remember Mr. Muggs, who provided a ratings boost after his February 1953 debut (and whom some accounts credit with saving the program from cancellation) and became something of a pop-culture sensation. An entire generation still has vivid memories of Muggs’ mischievous antics on early morning television.
That’s all well and good. But J. Fred wasn’t the only animal sidekick on Today, and another chimpanzee is often lost in his shadow, or identified as Muggs in photos or footage. And that’s sad, for while Kokomo Jr.’s tenure on Today wasn’t as long, his story is no less interesting.
In early 1957, Muggs’ days on Today were numbered. (That’s a story I will get into another day; let’s just say it’s complicated, and since lawsuits ensued I want to make sure I tell that one correctly.) Producers were going to have a gap to fill somehow. As it happened, an upcoming Florida remote would provide an answer.
Enter New York bricklayer and nightclub magician Nick Carrado, who had fallen in love with an adorable year-old chimp during a visit to a Massachusetts wild animal farm in 1956, and purchased the little one. Frustrated with trying to teach a rabbit to do tricks, Carrado thought of incorporating the chimp into his act. But his plans changed when the chimp started stealing the show. Carrado, who remembered “literally raising him like a child,” taught the chimp how to do magic tricks and other things that would delight audiences. In honor of two fallen Marine Corps buddies, Koke and Moe, Carrado named the chimp Kokomo Jr. They shared Carrado’s Manhattan apartment, where Kokomo had his own room with its own television set. “He’s crazy about programs with horses and dogs in them. He likes to bark at horses,” Carrado told a reporter.
In early 1957 Carrado and Kokomo Jr. took their show to Florida. While they were down South, Today was doing a remote from the state. The producers had heard about Kokomo’s act and wanted to meet him, and the chimp ended up on the program. As Carrado remembered, “NBC taped the whole show around us and we were hired on the spot.” According to contemporary accounts, Today began promoting Kokomo Jr.’s March 1 debut in mid-February, before Muggs’ send-off.
NBC photo
Kokomo made his official Today debut on March 4, dressed in a white shirt, gray trousers and a bow tie. Throughout the program, he ran errands for Garroway and carried paper to a wastebasket. “At the close of the first day,” wrote one reviewer, “he rubbed his natural crew-cut (signifying he had a headache), but then – after some thought – he dropped his hand and applauded his own performance.” In later programs Kokomo wrote “poetry” on a typewriter and did watercolor paintings, or helped Garroway with the weather.
The producers would sometimes ask Carrado for certain routines, like playing a violin, and Carrado would train Kokomo in how to play. Carrado took pride in Kokomo, taking him for regular shaves and haircuts and keeping him outfitted in nice clothes, and adding new tricks to the repertoire.
Within two months of his Today debut, the city of Kokomo, Indiana named the chimp an honorary citizen. A New York restaurant asked him to contribute a painting for display. Soon Kokomo was asked to appear on the newly-retooled Tonight program with Jack Paar in July 1957, and went through basic training with a Naval Air Reserve unit for a September 1957 Today segment. Merchandise soon followed, including a doll. The chimp was invited to Kokomo, Indiana, and even invited to throw out the first ball on the opening day of the Kokomo Dodgers’ season.
Kokomo’s personality differed from that of his predecessor. While Muggs had a reputation for mischief, Kokomo Jr. came across as relaxed. Take a look, for instance, at this moment from November 1957 as Garroway gently reads poetry to an affectionate Kokomo. (And note that while the video misidentifies Kokomo Jr. as Muggs, that is Kokomo Jr. If you look closely, you will see the “Kokomo Jr.” nametag on his vest.)
While Kokomo Jr. was an adorable addition to Today, lightning did not strike twice. Perhaps audiences accustomed to the higher-octane antics of Muggs weren’t as engaged by the laid-back Kokomo Jr. Perhaps the producers, or Garroway himself, got tired of the concept or felt it didn’t fit the increasingly informative nature of Today. In any event, by July 1958 Kokomo Jr. was off the program. Columnist Marie Torre noted at the end of that month that “Kokomo Jr. (of old Today fame)…is posing for photographic illustrations for a series of Hallmark greeting cards.”
After his Today gig was over, Kokomo went on to continued success on television and the stage, doing everything from mall openings to television commercials. In 1969 the original Kokomo Jr. retired to a farm Carrado owned in upstate New York. Kokomo’s son took over the act, traveling with Carrado in a custom motorhome from gig to gig. A reporter noted in 1977 that Carrado credited the elder Kokomo for a successful act that made millions of dollars. Carrado later revealed that he used two chimpanzees in the act, alternating them between days to keep them from getting exhausted. “I was always concerned about not pushing them too hard,” Carrado told an interviewer in 2000 about that secret. “In the end, I’d rather that people know that I’m humane.”
In 1983 Carrado and the chimps retired to North Carolina. Carrado and his wife started a company that sold packaging tape. The chimpanzees lived out their retirement painting, snacking, watching television and riding on their Big Wheels through the Carrados’ yard. Carrado himself, long concerned about the humane treatment of animals, drew up a proposal for a retirement home for show-business animals. When Carrado passed away in December 2007, his obituary noted that he was “best friend and trainer of Kokomo Jr.”
Though the various Kokomos are long retired, they live on at the official Kokomo Jr. website, where you can learn more and see some interesting photographs and artifacts from Kokomo’s moments in the spotlight.
—– SOURCES:
Associated Press, “Kokomo Jr. Swinging, Rich Chimp,” Orangeburg, SC Times and Democrat, 24 June 1977.
Hurley E. Badders, “Tuning In,” Greenville News March 10, 1957.
William Ewald, “Kokomo A Versatile Young Chimp,” San Mateo Times, 8 May 1957.
Jack O’Brian, “Lark Rating Falls Short,” Des Moines Tribune 13 Feb. 1957.
Marie Torre, “Lawrence Welk Plans To Try Teen-Age Band,” Rochester Democrat and Chronicle 29 July 1958.
Enter New York bricklayer and nightclub magician Nick Carrado, who had fallen in love with an adorable year-old chimp during a visit to a Massachusetts wild animal farm in 1956, and purchased the little one. Frustrated with trying to teach a rabbit to do tricks, Carrado thought of incorporating the chimp into his act. But his plans changed when the chimp started stealing the show. Carrado, who remembered “literally raising him like a child,” taught the chimp how to do magic tricks and other things that would delight audiences. In honor of two fallen Marine Corps buddies, Koke and Moe, Carrado named the chimp Kokomo Jr. They shared Carrado’s Manhattan apartment, where Kokomo had his own room with its own television set. “He’s crazy about programs with horses and dogs in them. He likes to bark at horses,” Carrado told a reporter.
