I imagine everyone has their own less-than-healthy way of dealing with The Quarantine. They say alcoholic beverage consumption is way up. But I don’t drink. What I do is buy way too many books. Like, seriously, I have a pile here of six unread books. And they’re not even culturally significant books. They’re giant coffee table books with photos of Disneyland, and books about broadcasting people. No fiction. (I’ve never been a big fiction reader. The last work of fiction I read was “The Talk Show Murders” by Steve Allen. I kind of have a one-track-mind.)
So this weekend I read two books. First:
Trebek’s book is a fast, enjoyable read–not a real full-length autobiography but a series of bite-size essays through which we learn his story. There are discussions about his battle with pancreatic cancer. His candor at discussing the pain, the difficulty of doing his job, and the understanding that his time is limited is remarkable. Some of my favorite revelations from the book:
He Got Stiffed On A Game Show Job And He’ll Never, Ever Forget it
Trebek hosted a Canadian game show called “Pitfall”…after the second season wrapped up he found out his paycheck was no good. So he framed it and placed it in his home.
His Favorite Alex Trebek Impersonation Is Not Will Ferrell.
Of course it isn’t! The best Trebek was done by Eugene Levy on SCTV! And the sketch was based on an actual student quiz show Trebek hosted in Canada (presumably he got paid for that one).
He’s A Handyman.
He writes at length in the book about building and fixing things, including a lengthy battle with a cover for a porch swing. His vehicle is a red pickup truck. Which seems incredibly yin/yang perfect for a guy who spends his days hosting the most intelligent of all game shows.
“The Answer Is…” does, of course, have lots of stories about “Jeopardy!”–the champions, the production of the show, and more. All that stuff is great, but I kind of was familiar with most of it. Reading about Alex Trebek’s early years in CBC radio and television, including his time hosting an “American Bandstand”-style teen show, were the real surprises.
So Alex Trebek’s book was a light, Friday night read. This bad boy on the other hand:
This is a biography. Well-researched, 250 some-odd pages in print too tiny for either bi-focal. This was an all-day-Sunday affair.
Anybody who works in radio should know at least a little bit about Arthur Godfrey. Before him, radio announcers sounded…a bit formal. A typical show opening might go like:
Good evening ladies and gentlemen! From the Handfruit Theater on West 71st Street in New York City, we bring you tonight’s exciting cavalcade of story and song, brought to you by Old Grandmother’s Cough Drops! Remember ladies and gentlemen, if it worked for Grandpa, it will work for you! And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure to introduce your master of ceremonies, that winsome, affable entertainer, Ralph Shoeleather!
In 1931 Arthur Godfrey was in a terrible automobile accident that would cause him a lifetime of pain. During the three months of recovery he listened to the radio. A lot. And he had as close to an epiphany as a radio man can get. All of these snooty announcers with their “ladies and gentlemen”s and so forth…they didn’t seem to realize that radio plays to an audience of one. So when Godfrey returned to work, he tried out his new idea of just speaking to that one person. It revolutionized the industry in ways that are still important to this day.
Eventually Godfrey had live morning radio shows in New York City and Washington, DC (basically splitting morning drive time between the two markets). Then, in the 40s, he went national, coast-to-coast on CBS Radio Network. Then television came along. Godfrey had two weekly prime-time series and his morning show was partially simulcast on CBS-TV.
At his peak in the 1950’s, between radio and television, Arthur Godfrey brought in $12,000,000 in annual revenue for CBS. In 1953 dollars. He did it through live commercials, which went right along with his “talk to one person” philosophy:
The shows Arthur Godfrey did were variety programs with a group of regular singers and musicians dubbed the “little Godfreys.” At the peak of his fame, Godfrey had a conflict with one such cast member, singer Julius LaRosa, and–on the advice of the president of CBS (that part I never knew!)–“fired” him on the air.
It was the first of a series of public relations fiascos, combined with a change in television programming toward more filmed series and less live TV, that meant the end of Godfrey’s video days. His radio program ran until 1972. Live commercials delivered by talent on the network level became quite rare, save for Paul Harvey until his passing and Charles Osgood until his retirement.
There’s a lot to learn about Arthur Godfrey–even for me, an old broadcasting nerd. He, like my Mom, was a survivor of lung cancer–all the more remarkable in his case because he was diagnosed in 1959. Even though his fame had softened, thousands upon thousands of letters of support and prayer were sent his way. In Mom’s case we all firmly believe in the power of prayer, and talented doctors.
Godfrey was quite the renaissance man–he piloted planes frequently, in a variety of models and locales…he entered his horses in dressage contests at Madison Square Garden…and he was one of the very first environmentalists. He produced and CBS aired documentaries about environmental issues in the 1970’s.
I love this book because at its heart, it’s about a man who loved live radio, and showed all who came after how you do it. As I’ve said maaaaaaaany times before, the time I spend hosting the morning show is usually the happiest time of my day. Voice-tracking is expedient and practical. Hosting a live show is the bees knees.
It’s interesting that the same weekend I decided to read this book, Regis Philbin passed away. Regis was really the last of the great extemporaneous broadcasters…able to fill mass amounts of airtime without the little plug in his ear that so many on-camera personalities are slave to these days.
Another great one is Tom Bergeron, who was rewarded for 20 years of excellent hosting by getting canned. Nothing against Tyra Banks, but if somebody faints on that show she’s gonna need the little plug in her ear to tell her to go to commercial.