Q & A
Page 12
Later, in the wings of Studio 6B before the broadcast, taking instructions from the photographer, Kenyon Saint Claire poses beside a wheeled blackboard where someone has drawn a massive sum in digits as large as Kenyon’s head.
$104,500
A happy Kenyon Saint Claire beams at the sum. Click.
A wide-eyed Kenyon Saint Claire ogles the sum. Click.
A playful Kenyon Saint Claire stretches out his arms to take measure of the sum. Click.
A delirious Kenyon Saint Claire is hoisted in Fred Mint’s arms before the sum. Both men pitch their heads back and laugh, open-mouthed. Click.
CONTROL
—Camera One, nice’n snug now—
Fred Mint and Kenyon Saint Claire stand close at the podium for the two-shot, Mint leaning in as if Kenyon’s hard of hearing. In the camera, all images are flattened and all is false proximity.
“I just wondered,” Mint says, “last week you told us that you had written a book, and it is still not published, called Country of the Father. Isn’t that right? It’s not published?”
“No,” says Kenyon Saint Claire, “not published.”
“Well then, you’ll be interested in the telegram I’ve received, and I’d like to read it for you, here on the air—sent to me today, and it says, ‘You can advise Kenyon Saint Claire that we would like to take a look at his unpublished book Country of the Father.’ It’s signed William Dover, story editor, Universal International Pictures, International City, California. Now, isn’t that nice?”
Applause, applause.
—Camera Two, show us the happy man—
Kenyon, bashful, beams in the hot lights. From Mint’s hand he takes the telegram and kisses it, waves it in a small triumphant flourish, then tucks it safely in his jacket pocket.
“And we hope it will be successful,” says Mint. “Now Kenyon Saint Claire, we have a new contestant here: Mister Dearborn. You come to us from Long Island, Mister Dearborn, is that correct? And you practice law there?...”
Presently they are in the booths, Kenyon and Dearborn, the white-hot lights burning down on each of them through the glass, and Fred Mint, the impresario, is in full form.
Ding! goes the bell.
“Kenny, the category is Furnishings. How many points do you want?”
“Hm, I don’t know anything about Furnishings,” says Kenyon, his voice somewhat metalized through the microphone, the bass tones deepened, every breath extra sibilant. “Can I take three points?”
“Yes you can. Is that what you wanna take? Three points? For three points, What is the name of the cloth draped over the back of a seat to resist staining the fabric with hair oils?”
“Well, that much I know. An antimacassar.”
—There’s our winner, gents, isn’t he gorgeous —
“Antimacassar is correct, and you have three points.”
Applause, applause. The scorebox flashes to 3 as Mint clicks off Kenyon’s On the Air sign and turns to the other contestant.
KENYON
As Mint and Dearborn do their drill, Kenyon’s mind is fairly wheeling, that telegram a source of heat in his pocket. Advise him that we’d like to take a look at his unpublished book. Goodness! But wait, this William Dover is in the movies? It is a movie studio and not a publisher that wishes to read the book? Isn’t that queer! Oh, but what writer wouldn’t want a movie made of his book? Yes, who would not want that? I want that, Kenyon tells himself. Of course I do.
Amid this burble of thought he all but forgets that the book is not yet written. Rather, not yet finished. He does have a stack of manuscript pages in the top drawer of his desk at home, but he hasn’t looked at them in more than a year…
The producers have deemed a tie game unnecessary. Kenyon’s victory over Dearborn is quick.
LIVING ROOM
That was quick.
The men come out of their booths, shake hands in cordial manner—a fine contest, sir, you have my admiration, et cetera—and off goes Dearborn toward the wings. But before he’s out of sight here comes the new contestant: tall svelte blonde in high collar and pearls. Mr. Dearborn, kind of a short guy, rises up on the ball of one foot for a quick nip to her cheek, one hand at the small of her back. Smiling, she steps to Fred Mint’s podium.
“Well now,” says Mint, “we’ve just said goodbye to Mister Dearborn and now we have, do we not, Missus Dearborn? Missus Victoria Dearborn?”
“That’s right. Hello.”
“That fella there, he happens to be your husband.”
“Yes he does.”
She’s all smiles, a glowing beauty. Those cameras love her, the screen loves her, the TV set is all but vibrating.
“This will be the first time we’ve had a husband and wife on the program, now isn’t that nice. So, Missus Dearborn, naturally you also hail from Long Island. And like your husband you also practice law there, is that correct?”
“Yes, although a different line. I represent Warner Brothers Motion Pictures Company.”
“Oh, have you been involved with any interesting pictures lately?”
“Yes, in fact I’m presently working on the new Tab Hunter film, the Spirit of Saint Louis.”
“Oh, a fine picture it is too. I saw it on the opening night. Well now, Kenyon Saint Claire, you have won one hundred and twenty-two thousand dollars to date. Tonight you have the opportunity to take your winnings and never play another game, or you can play against Missus Dearborn here and stand to win or lose as much as ten thousand five hundred dollars. Before you make up your mind, here are a few more things you should know about Victoria Dearborn.”
They go close on Mrs. Dearborn—what a face!—and here’s Bob Shepherd’s voice: She graduated summa cum laude from Sarah Lawrence College. She is an expert speed-reader and a prize-winning ballroom dancer. She is the chairwoman of her local chapter of Soroptimist International.
“Well, Kenyon, what do you say? Will you play Missus Dearborn or—”
“I’ll play,” says Kenyon. Affable old smile.
“That’s the spirit. OK then, I’ll ask both of you to step into your booths and put on your earphones.”
CONTROL
—Camera Two, lay of the land please, very nice, it’s just glittering gents would you look at that—
Cue music. And here comes a spokesmodel to affix the name Mrs. Dearborn to the new contestant’s scorebox. As the music winds down, the spokesmodel glides backward as if rewound on a fishing line. Disappears behind the booths.
And now they are started.
—Camera Two—
“Missus Dearborn, I’ll begin with you.”
Ding! goes the bell.
—She’s beautiful Camera Two my god they’re all just gorgeous tonight—
“The category is The Civil War. How much do you think you know about the Civil War? Answer by telling me how many points you’d like from one to eleven.”
“I’ll try for nine points.”
“You’ll try for nine. For nine points: Because he did not sanction secession, this man was the only senator who refused to leave the United States Senate when his state seceded from the union in June of 1861. Name him and the state he represented.”
“Andrew Johnson of Tennessee.”
—Camera One—
“You’re right, and you now have nine points!”
Applause, applause.
Mrs. Dearborn’s scorebox flutters to 9. Mint silences her earphones.
—Ready Camera Three—
“Kenyon, you have three points. The category is Holidays. How many points would you like?”
—Camera Three, make us feel that sweat—
“Holidays,” says Kenyon, swabbing his brow. “I could use a holiday right now.”
Laughter from the audience. Under the oppressive lights, a little
smile flits across Kenny’s mouth. “I’ll try seven points, Fred.”
“For seven points, here is your question … You’re right and you now have ten points! Missus Dearborn, you have nine points.”
Ding! goes the bell.
“The category is Elections. How many do you want? All right, for nine more points, here is your question. That’s correct, and you now have eighteen points! Kenyon, the category is elections. How many points will you try for? For eight points, here it is: In the election of 1912, the vice presidential candidate of the Republican Party died shortly before Election Day. Who was this candidate, and who was named to replace him?”
—Don’t even think of letting’m go Camera Three—
Close on Kenyon as he breathes deep, fidgets, shifts his weight to one leg. “Well, 1912. That was the year that Taft and Wilson beat Teddy Roosevelt…” He gnaws his bottom lip. He squeezes his eyes closed, opens them. In the microphone his long exhale is like a sea roar. “The name of the man,” he says tentatively, “who was the actual vice-presidential candidate who ran for the office was Nicholas Murray Butler. Now, that’s the man who replaced the original candidate who died.”
“That’s right,” says Mint. “I presume you know Butler because of the association with Columbia.”
“Yes, he was the president of Columbia for many years.”
“Uh-huh. Now the original candidate was…”
But Kenyon Saint Claire doesn’t know. He’s squeezing his eyes again, casting his head back, his face all pale and glistening.
“I’ll have to ask for your answer, Kenyon.”
“Sherman,” says Kenyon suddenly. “James S. Sherman.”
“Sherman is correct, and you have eighteen points!”
The audience pours forth a wave of relieved applause.
KENYON
The holiday line, Kenny had thought of that. Seems to be a hit too!
Lacky had wanted him to miss Nicholas Murray Butler. Who except a historian would know a thing like that? said Lacky.
A Columbia man, Kenny had answered. Any Columbia man would know.
CONTROL
—Ready Camera One we’ll stay with you—
Swiveling again to the opposite booth, Fred Mint begins to speak, but—
Cue bell.
“Whoop! Missus Dearborn, Kenyon, we’ve just heard a sound which means that our time is up. Won’t you both come out here, please. My, you both have played mightily tonight and you’ve come to a tie at eighteen points each. All I can say is that this has been one of the most thrilling contests we’ve ever had. How do you feel, Kenny?”
“Hot.”
“How do you feel, Missus Dearborn?”
“Just fine, a little warm.”
—Camera Two, close on our starlet now—
“Well, you both answered very difficult questions and you deserve a little break. Are your children at home fast asleep, Missus Dearborn, or may they be watching?”
“Oh, they’re asleep at this hour.”
“They’re just youngsters, aren’t they? And Kenny, any members of your family watching the program?”
—Camera One—
Kenyon laughs. “About thirty.”
“Well, they all have much, much reason to be proud of both of you for your tremendous display of knowledge. You’ll come back next week, and I know everyone will be waiting to see the outcome of the match. At one thousand dollars a point, I congratulate you both.”
Cue orchestra as the audience applauds. Kenyon and Mrs. Dearborn make their way offstage and the camera pulls in close on Fred Mint for the Geritol placement.
—Ready sponsor title—
Mint’s in a terrible rush and keeps speaking as the orchestra plays out, but manages to finish just in time to wave to the audience at home.
—Sponsor title go—
Cut to a globe encircled by a whizzing plane whose jetstream spells the word Geritol. A geritol bottle appears and the plane continues its orbit: one, two, three swipes across the bottle: Feel. Stronger. Fast.
Cue announcer, and Bob Shepherd’s voice comes on: To Tell the Truth! You’ll really enjoy the exciting new panel show, To Tell the Truth! with Bud Collyer. Brought to you by Geritol and Zarumin every Tuesday night over another network. And now, this is Bob Shepherd wishing you good health from Pharmaceuticals, Incorporated, who brings you Geritol, Zarumin, and other fine quality drug products!
A final flourish of the tympani drums and … show’s over.
—Now that’s television, gents—
5.
THE NEW REAL
February 1957
“That was the fun of it—the confusion and mixture of
televised fantasy and voyeuristically apprehended reality.
A dose of fantasy. And the insinuation that we might be
watching something real. Which has turned out, fifty years
later, to be television’s perennial, still winning formula.”
—Susan Sontag
Q:
Mr. Winfeld, have any pressures
ever been brought to bear on you
to keep this whole matter quiet?
A:
Actually in a way, yes. In other words,
all sorts of blandishments and promises
were made to me, as I have stated before; that I
would get certain jobs if I shut my mouth; I would make
certain appearances on shows and become part of
the Mint & Greenmarch staff and so forth, if I would just, very
bluntly, shut my mouth and not say anything
about this to anybody.7
Greenmarch
Come in, Sid, come in.
Winfeld
Hello, Ray. I guess you know—we’ve discussed this I realize—what brings me here today.
Greenmarch
Have a seat, please. Can I get you a drink?
Winfeld
I guess I have time to sit, thanks. Sure, OK, but nothing alcoholic, I’ve got to go back to work after.
Greenmarch
Thanks for coming in like this, Sid.
Winfeld
As we discussed on the phone, Ray, you’ve received my messages.
Greenmarch
I realize you’ve had a hell of a time reaching me, Sid, and—
Winfeld
Finally I didn’t know what else to do but to insist on seeing you in person—
Greenmarch
The program, there’s just not enough hours in the day some days, it’s been a very busy time for us here—
Winfeld
Because since I went off the air as you know things have been a little, how do I say, irksome or—let’s just say I’ve been through the wringer a bit, Ray.
Greenmarch
But listen, in spite of all this I wanted to reassure you that we’re here for you, Sid.
Winfeld
—and meanwhile all the time I’m remembering your guarantees.
Greenmarch
I realize you’ve been waiting regarding those post-appearance opportunities—
Winfeld
The shows and appearances you’d stipulated, yes. See, my wife is—well, very naturally, she’s started asking me for some kind of enlightenment on our situation how we’re going to manage and so on.
Greenmarch
And I want to assure you I’ve been working on your behalf behind the scenes, so to speak.
Winfeld
You see, her parents are quite wealthy but I won’t have any of it, can you think what that must be like, Ray, to have your mother-in-law always standing there with a handout? What other stance can a guy take, what else can a guy tell his wife in a situation of that nature?
Greenmarch<
br />
I’m sorry to tell you this, Sid, but although I did submit you as a candidate for the new panel show I’d mentioned, you were not one of those selected to advance to the next phase. Now, these decisions, they’re extremely calculated—there are formulas, algorithms, demographics. Analyses of all kinds are taken into account—things the candidate can have no control over whatsoever. But listen, I’m still looking into a number of other possibilities for you, Sid, including further guest appearances and quite possibly a position of some kind in the office on the pre-production side.
Winfeld
Well, I would not be opposed to a position of a behind-the-scenes type, I mean I’m not going to be choosy at this point, Ray, only I still remember the guarantees that were held out to me quite clearly, so you understand that it’s my preference to maintain some on-television work of some kind.
Greenmarch
At the moment we have no offers for you, but this doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten you, Sid. Now, once you’re done with your college schooling—how’s that going anyhow?
Winfeld
I’m doing fine in all my courses, thank you, and in fact I’ll be graduated on the sixth of May—
Greenmarch
Good, good. Well, once you’re done, May sixth, if we haven’t managed to secure you a spot on any shows—
Winfeld
It’s been something of a challenge I admit since being on the show, and now I can’t walk across campus without someone calls out to me about Henry the Eighth’s wives or the discovery of penicillin or some such business, which what are you gonna do?
Greenmarch
—and I intend to keep working on your behalf on that subject—but if we haven’t managed to secure you a spot anywhere, you need to come right up and see me on May sixth, got that, Sid?
Winfeld
Sure, I’ll come up in May, but you understand that I’m still looking and hoping for something more immediate, I mean don’t five or six new panel shows come on the air every week? Sitting at home and watching that’s how it looks anyway.
Greenmarch
As things stand now, Sid, I’m looking into a few other possible productions, so we may still have panel show opportunities for you in the near future.