When Television Brought Us Together

When Television Brought Us Together

Celebrating the Shows and the Values That Shaped America's First TV Viewing Generations

David Hofstede

WHEN TELEVISION BROUGHT US TOGETHER

Copyright 2020 – David Hofstede

All rights reserved. 

Printed in the United States of America

No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

E-BOOK ISBN – 978-1-949802-21-4

Published by Black Pawn Press

FIRST EDITION

Is there anyone else out there who doesn’t understand the world anymore?

Such a deep, anguished, Linus Van Pelt question was not in my thoughts back in May of 2012 when I started my Comfort TV blog. All I wanted to do was write about the TV shows I grew up watching, and still watch almost every day.

But when you focus your attention on one fixed period in time, it doesn’t stop the rest of the world from moving forward. Every year that passed was one more year further away from the programs in the era I christened ‘Comfort TV" – shows that reflected what life in America was like in the 1950s, ‘60s, and ‘70s.

We’re 50 years beyond most of their debuts now. Do they still mirror how we live? Should they?

I don’t mean the cosmetic stuff – the fashions and the cars and the slang. Such artifacts are fun (or groovy!) to experience again, whether with affection or slightly embarrassed bemusement. But we’ll survive their passing into history.

Other changes since that time have been more profound, such as how we view each other and ourselves, and what our priorities should be. Whether traditional roles are now deemed restrictive and offensive by their very existence. What constitutes a good education, and the importance of work. Whether moral values are objective or subject to the whims of a culture. And if these lives we lead have any ultimate meaning.

Those are big questions, and most people don’t look for answers in episodes of Bewitched, Father Knows Best or The Brady Bunch. But the answers are in there, whether the creators of these shows intended that placement or not.

A Common Thread

The shows from decades past are more than a source of happy shared memories among millions of people; they are a common thread weaved through our culture; they portrayed a time when people were more sincere and less sarcastic; more civil and less cynical; they come from an era when it felt like we were one nation (yes, under God) instead of different warring tribes. They show us families and communities that support each other. They show us cities where schools and offices and synagogues are safe.

And when we watch them again, it also brings back memories of the days before VCRs and DVRs. Back then we knew when we watched a popular prime time series like The Carol Burnett Show on Saturday night, we were sharing that experience with tens of millions of Americans doing the same thing at the same time.

And here’s the part that will seem odd to those who grew up after that time had passed: It felt good. There was something reassuring about being part of something bigger, and feeling a tangible connection to people from one end of the country to another, even though you were doing something as inconsequential as watching a TV show.

Such connections, such common threads, are beneficial for a nation. Television was just one of many that have disappeared over the past three decades, with nothing substantial emerging to replace them. Perhaps that’s one reason why we’re in the state we’re in now.

An Escape into a Kinder, Gentler Time

I fear we’ve reached the point when the characters from these shows dwell in an America we no longer recognize. And in these uncertain times there’s a reassurance in returning to a place that is familiar, safe, and far removed from the instability (and sometimes outright insanity) of life in the 21st century. Such escapes can provide temporary relief, but while they’re lovely places to visit you can’t stay there. Fortunately, these same shows also provide valuable lessons for living in the real world.

Let’s go back and share some happy memories.

Why I Love Lucy and not My Little Margie?

Why The Love Boat but not Fantasy Island?

As this book is not intended as a history of television, it will inevitably leave out many shows that will be among your favorites, so I felt an explanation was in order on the criteria of inclusion.

Quality was obviously a factor but not the only one. Many TV historians would argue that The Defenders was a better legal drama than Perry Mason. But only Perry Mason is profiled here. The reason (and one that applies for almost every other selection) is popularity and longevity beyond a show’s first run. Perry Mason lasted nine seasons and aired continuously in syndication for decades thereafter. Turn on your TV now and you’re almost sure to find it somewhere. That makes it far more significant than The Defenders when measured by cultural impact.

In some cases, a series was left out because the point being made about its content would be the same as is discussed in another chapter. Leave it To Beaver is a prime example of a beloved 1950s family situation comedy that provides the same viewing pleasures and sociological observations as Father Knows Best. I chose the latter because I thought Father Knows Best had more to offer, including some remarkable outside-the-box episodes that can still surprise you.

Happily, with DVDs, streaming services, YouTube and retro TV channels, there is more access to television’s rich history than there has ever been before. If you are a child of television who grew up with these classics, you already know that the shows celebrated here are just a sampling of all the wonderful series produced by that era. If you are discovering them for the first time, hopefully this book will be a gateway that will lead you into many more delightful experiences from a time when television brought us together.

1952-1966 (ABC)

435 Episodes

There were higher-rated shows, there were more award-winning shows, there were more critically acclaimed shows, and there were a few shows that ran longer (though not many). But of all the series from the classic TV era only The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet provides enough material for dozens – even hundreds – of TV history studies, because there are so many aspects of this endlessly fascinating series worthy of exploration.

Start with the most obvious – it is television’s longest-running live action family situation comedy, and it features a real family – married couple Ozzie and Harriet Nelson and their two sons, David and Ricky.

At a time when millions of viewers have been fascinated by shows about the Kardashians and Duggars and others, here was a series that was decades ahead of its time.

Imagine the bizarre state of going to work with your whole family and acting out everyday situations like sitting around the dinner table or planning a weekend trip, on a set built to resemble the house you just left. In fact, the exterior shot of the Nelson residence in the opening credits showed their actual Los Angeles home (at 1822 Camino Palmero St.)

And when the workday is done you return home and pick up where you left off as an actual family. What must it be like to participate in a simplified version of your daily life, while simultaneously coping with any less sitcom-friendly aspects of those relationships when the cameras stopped?

The results, to me, are as captivating as they are unique. And this wasn’t some short-lived sociological experiment in entertainment – The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet ran for 14 years, longer if you count the radio show that preceded the television series. The show aired long enough for David and Ricky to grow up and get married, and for their wives to join the show, also playing dramatized versions of their real selves.

I still wonder who these people really were. On the show, Ozzie was a genial, laid-back patriarch who avoided household chores or any kind of labor. The fact that he had no discernible job was one of the show’s running gags, though the topic was never broached. But the real Ozzie served as a producer, director and cowriter, for a series that turned out 39 new episodes in its first two seasons. He may have been the hardest-working man in 1950s television.

Harriet appeared the quintessential housewife, with her woman’s club meetings and the stack of pancakes she served her family every morning for breakfast. But the real Harriet was a vaudeville performer and band singer who enjoyed hanging out at the Cotton Club. She had such a way with an acerbic punch line that you knew she was just as feisty when the cameras weren’t on.

Their eldest son David was often regarded as the least interesting of the quartet, but I was always intrigued by him, because he never seemed like the type who would aspire to appearing in a TV show if that wasn’t the family business. Yet in the episodes that focused on him as he progressed from high school to college, to getting married and working in a law office, he epitomized the anticipated life and career trajectory of his generation better than any other young man on television.

What was it about this one family that millions of Americans found so interesting for so long? Was that window into aspects of real people’s lives a factor? Perhaps, but maybe it was simply a familial affection that compounded in viewers over time, as well as audiences seeing aspects of themselves and their own families in the Nelsons – or at least what they aspired to be.

This was a time in television when there was a lot more of that – shows about families and doctors and lawyers and police officers that depicted their subjects in a way that would engender admiration and respect from the viewing public. It wasn’t done overtly to send that message; it was, rather, a natural consequence of the way a self-assured and principled nation would portray itself.

Another element that made the show special was its balance of traditional ‘50s and ‘60s stories with dashes of surrealism and a style of plot-less meandering that would be hailed as groundbreaking decades later on Seinfeld. From the most basic of incidents – Rick grows a beard; Ozzie decides to stay in bed all day; Harriet gets a new hairstyle – the show devised clever, labyrinthine scripts that are still laugh-out-loud funny.

You never knew where the show was going to take you. An episode about Ozzie’s all-night quest for tutti-frutti ice cream features a 1920s-themed musical dream sequence. In The Manly Arts (1961), David and Ricky fight a gang of smugglers in a scene right out of The Untouchables. They did their own stunts, just as they did in a circus episode where they performed a trapeze act. In several episodes one of the Nelsons will break the fourth wall and comment directly to the viewers, sometimes in character, sometimes as themselves.

And we’ve come all this way without mentioning Ricky Nelson’s remarkable music career, another trailblazing aspect to the series. He was the first TV star to attempt such a crossover, and remains the standard by which all similar attempts are measured. Nelson was also television’s first singing teen idol, establishing the template for everyone from Davy Jones to David Cassidy to Zac Efron.

Rick formed a band in a 1956 episode, and in 1957 he performed a cover of Fats Domino’s I’m Walkin’ in the episode Ricky the Drummer. The original was still in the top 40, but that didn’t stop Ricky’s version from reaching #4 on Billboard’s Hot 100.

Viewers watched Nelson’s performances on TV and then bought his albums, and those who heard him sing on the radio would then tune into the series. That’s the kind of cross-promotional win-win that makes studios, networks, agents and managers salivate. Nelson had 35 top-40 hits between 1957 and 1972, including such pop classics as Hello Mary Lou, Travelin’ Man, It’s Late and Poor Little Fool. He was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1987.

Sadly, those memorable musical moments have likely contributed to the series’ not faring well on DVD. Despite its quality and historic significance, music rights licensing to Ricky’s catalog may be too high a price for a distributor. Ricky’s son Sam Nelson teased an official DVD release, but chose to go it alone rather than work with an established company. That may not have been a wise choice at a time when the market is already in decline, particularly for television shows of this vintage.

Still, this show has been a survivor for decades already. It was never the highest rated among ABC’s programming slate, yet it kept getting renewed year after year. As of this writing all of its more than 400 episodes have been uploaded to YouTube. So even if the Nelsons are no longer America’s favorite family, as lauded in the show’s opening, I am confident their legacy will find a way to endure.

The Best Episodes

The Lost Christmas Gift (1954)

The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet aired several delightful holiday episodes over its long run. Does it seem to you that the boys are missing the real spirit of Christmas? Ozzie asks his wife near the beginning of The Lost Christmas Gift. But when Ricky’s new catcher’s mitt can’t be found, Harriet wonders if the gift was sent to another Nelson family on the other side of town. Their visit to that home awakens the family to that missing Christmas spirit. All of the series’ holiday shows, especially Busy Christmas and The Girl in the Emporium are annual traditions in my home.

The Pajama Game (1955)

Using Adventures in the title was meant to be ironic, as most episode stories were spun from the most mundane of everyday tasks. But every so often the title fit, when a seemingly harmless choice triggers a series of perilous mishaps. Here, Ozzie’s decision to help Ricky with his geometry homework leads to he and his neighbor Thorny (Don DeFore) becoming stranded in the middle of downtown, in their pajamas.

Captain Salty and the Submarine (1956)

Ozzie happens on a children’s show that’s giving away a mechanical submarine for six bottle caps of Seafoam Root Beer. When he can’t convince either of his sons that it would be fun and educational to order one, he does it himself. If you have a dad that enjoyed playing with your Christmas toys more than you did, this one will hit home. It gets even better when Captain Salty announces that the winner of his bicycle giveaway contest is little Ozzie Nelson, who will appear on the show to pick up his prize.

Ozzie’s Triple Banana Surprise (1957)

Ozzie Nelson loved ice cream, so it’s not surprising that Tutti-Frutti Ice Cream wasn’t the only classic series episode based on a frozen dessert. Ozzie’s Triple Banana Surprise is told in flashback, as Ozzie reveals what happened to him after enjoying one of those concoctions at the neighborhood malt shop.

That night he dreams of strumming a ukulele on a tropical beach, surrounded by lovely native girls, and singing In the Middle of an Island. A phone call from David wakes him up – he’s stranded with his date at a diner because of car trouble. Ozzie heads out to pick them up, and starts meeting the people he dreamed about. And then David isn’t at the diner when he gets there. As events become more surreal Ozzie gets to the point where he’s not sure what is real and what isn’t anymore.

The Duenna (1957)

David meets Lucita, an attractive girl who speaks only Spanish. Somehow they manage to make a date, but he is confused when she calls later and he can’t understand her. A half-hearted attempt to translate reveals one word familiar to Ozzie – duenna, meaning chaperone. Apparently it’s Spanish tradition for girls on dates to be accompanied by a grandmother or maiden aunt. Ozzie tags along to socialize with the chaperone, but is taken aback when the duenna turns out to be an attractive senorita with amorous intentions.

The episode plays without subtitles, except for one brief scene needed to clarify the plot. Thus, viewers are as challenged by the language barrier as David, which heightens our awareness of how difficult these situations can be. What is engaging is the good faith effort made on both sides, without any expressions of impatience or frustration.

From 1956 to 1961, the Eastman Kodak Company sponsored The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet.

This was the era in television in which a show’s stars often also appeared in its commercials. Here that task usually fell to Harriet Nelson, who spoke directly to viewers at home about how much the Nelson family enjoys capturing and sharing memories of vacations and get-togethers in pictures. And when Christmas approached, Harriet would urge viewers to pick up a Kodak Brownie Starflash camera (for just $5.95!) and gift-wrap it under the tree with a tag that reads Open Me First. That way, Dad would be ready to snap photos of the kids opening their gifts from Santa.

Photography wasn’t anything new by the 1950s, but it was still something special.

Another memorable Kodak advertising campaign popularized the phrase Kodak Moments, a sentiment to describe how the average person used photography for most of its history – as a way to capture optical memories of special events: a child’s birthday party, seeing the sights on a trip to Europe, meeting a celebrity. Disneyland set up Kodak Picture Spots to help amateur shutterbugs take the best pictures for their family albums.

Harriet Nelson wasn’t the only TV character with an appreciation for the joys of photography.

In The Brady Bunch episode Not-So-Rose-Colored Glasses, Carol is thrilled by Mike’s anniversary gift – a beautiful photograph of their six children, enlarged and framed for permanent display in their bedroom (at least for one episode).

The opening credits sequence for the brilliant ABC drama series Family shows a series of photographs of each family member displayed on top of a piano.

And how many shows featured episodes about the end of a relationship, in which the broken-hearted look longingly at a photo from when they were still together? When the break-up is especially hostile, those photos might get folded or cut in half. That was a tactic used by Donald Hollinger’s mother to erase the memory of Ann Marie on That Girl (Thanksgiving Comes But Once a Year, Hopefully).

Beyond the obvious desire to save significant moments for posterity, there was a practical reason why people only took pictures of meaningful events and places – most rolls of film allowed for just 24 or 36 photo-taking opportunities, and every snap of the shutter cost money, not just in film but in developing your snapshots at Fotomat.

No such restrictions exist anymore.  A cell phone can take and store more than 50,000 photos. Freed of such attention to discretion, teens and twenty-somethings inaugurated the era of the selfie, photos of themselves doing absolutely nothing of interest to anyone.

While there are still photojournalists, hobbyists and others devoted to chronicling our life and times through images, photography today has been relegated to feeding the raging narcissism of millennials.

After the inevitable apocalypse, as anthropologists comb through