It was the second time in just a few months that the hard truth smacked me right in the face!
My 15 year old son had no idea who the Lone Ranger was. Some months before a younger woman I met had confused American comedy legend Jack Benny with less than legendary British comedian Benny Hill.
I realized then that the era of my youth, the 1950’s, was submerging faster than Lloyd Bridges as Mike Nelson in Sea Hunt. Time to take stock of a few more lingering memories, I figured, before they too sink fully ‘neath the waves:
I realized then that the era of my youth, the 1950’s, was submerging faster than Lloyd Bridges as Mike Nelson in Sea Hunt. Time to take stock of a few more lingering memories, I figured, before they too sink fully ‘neath the waves:
77 Sunset Strip <snap, snap> was a cool L.A. private eye show, or at least as cool an L.A. private eye show as you could have starring Efrem Zimbalist Jr. <snap, snap>. It did have its slicker elements in Jeff Spencer as played by Roger Smith, later to be Ann-Margret’s sadly disabled husband, and Ed “Kookie” Burns, whose “Kookie, Kookie, lend me your comb” greasy hair set off a national craze, only to have us laughing at it a decade later. But 77 Sunset Strip’s <snap, snap> greatest cool was in spawning a spate of cookie cutter follow-ups, all from 'the Studios of Warner Brothers,' which planted cookie cutter private eyes in Hawaii, Miami, and points beyond and made a full-fledged star out of <snap, snap> cookie cutter cut-out Troy Donahue.
“Dobie! Wants a girl who’s dreamy. Dobie! Wants a girl who’s creamy.” And what a dreamy, creamy cast of supporting characters The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis had: beatnik Maynard G. Krebs, proof positive that Bob Denver was a talented comic actor before he set sail for a three hour/life long trashing of his career; Thalia Meninger, representing our first panting look at the incredibly gorgeous Tuesday Weld; Herbert T. Gillis, Dobie’s lovable but blowhard dad, a proud veteran of “WWII, the Big One!”; rich kid Chatsworth Osborne Jr.; and even Warren Beatty as a proto-Chatsworth in the early episodes. Yes, Dobie --- in the person of Dwayne Hickman --- wanted a girl to call his own, and boy so did we. And even as Dobie Do (as Chatsworth called him) fades away, a lot of us still Dobie-Do!
There were many jingles from “Plop, Plop, Fizz, Fizz” to “Kerplunk Go the Tablets” but only one Speedy Alka-Seltzer. In that sugar sweet voice all his own, the little boy with the chest of an Alka Seltzer tablet and shock of brown hair tumbling out from under an Alka-Seltzer hat sang the praises of the relief–giving tablets all throughout the Fifties. In those days before Gumby roamed the earth, the stop action technology that breathed life into Speedy seemed incredible, rendering him a favorite with both children and the adults who actually used the fizzy product many a morning after one highball too many. Speedy seemed so real you just wanted to cuddle him, to make him your own special playmate. But as we grew older, Speedy didn’t, and finally with a barely audible “plop, plop” in the early 60’s ”kerplunk” went Speedy!
There in the not even yet wee small hours of the morning was the Indian Head Test Pattern, flittering across our TV screens in the place of Letterman, Leno, Conan, Kimmel, Ferguson, Fallon et al. and oft more entertaining than the lot of them. There was no such thing as all night TV, my children, and the three (count’ em three!) networks all went early to bed and not so early to rise. In their place, and all through the night, was an oddly designed screen with a series of circles and adorned with an Indian Head, as we called it in those days. Why did the test pattern feature the head of a Native American? Could it be that because we took their land, they got us back good by taking our TV?
There in the not even yet wee small hours of the morning was the Indian Head Test Pattern, flittering across our TV screens in the place of Letterman, Leno, Conan, Kimmel, Ferguson, Fallon et al. and oft more entertaining than the lot of them. There was no such thing as all night TV, my children, and the three (count’ em three!) networks all went early to bed and not so early to rise. In their place, and all through the night, was an oddly designed screen with a series of circles and adorned with an Indian Head, as we called it in those days. Why did the test pattern feature the head of a Native American? Could it be that because we took their land, they got us back good by taking our TV?
The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet was oddly named, a show about the suburban couple next door that claimed to offer Adventures! Yet though none of the Nelsons solved crimes or explored the untamed West, Ozzie and Harriet did possess a certain quirkiness not found on most other “just dropped by to borrow a cup of sugar” shows. For one, we were never enlightened as to what Ozzie did for a living; he might have been with the CIA, sold drugs, or been the Hubcap King of Santa Monica. Harriet for her part sometimes exhibited an off-beat sense of humor, and son Ricky began as a scrawny kid who picked up a guitar and wound up a full-fledged rock legend, complete with untimely death. Ozzie and Harriet can also bid fair to be our first brush with Reality TV; as the kids grew and married, they married their real life wives on the show as well. Today only David Nelson - age 74- remains. I kinda miss his family’s Adventures.
Brylcreem promised us guys that “a little dab would do us” and women cuter-than-we-could-ever-hope-for would fall into our arms. Brylcreem certainly helped Ed “Kookie” Burns make a career for himself, but I’m not sure the gooey stuff otherwise lived up to its rep. “Watch out, the girls’ll all pursue you, they’ll love to get their fingers in your hair” warbled a choir of 1950's horny gentlemen on the omnipresent commercials as a male and female puppet found romance when the male puppet’s hair went from shaggily disheveled to gloppily sheveled. Maybe primitive wooden puppets and ultra-cool Fifties' dudes achieved feminine fingers in their hair, but all I got was a greasy pompadour until one day the Beatles appeared and washed it all away.
Zorro, in the sanitized Disney tradition, was a light-hearted look at a masked, mustachioed and caped crusader of Old California whose adventures exuded no sense of danger whatsoever. Talk about suspension of disbelief: Don Diego de la Vega looked, spoke, and comported himself so exactly like the alleged scoundrel Zorro that it was impossible to believe even the doltish Sergeant Garcia couldn’t figure out who he was, let alone the general populace of the future state. To add to the basic lameness of the show, the lightning strike at the opening and the very “Z” that Zorro carved were obviously animated. Still, Zorro and his brocade-clad alter ego were suavely played by Guy Williams --- later to go mustache-less on Lost in Space ---and for little kids not used to much sophistication in the 50’s, Zorro-Zorro-Zorro was fun-fun-fun!
Brylcreem promised us guys that “a little dab would do us” and women cuter-than-we-could-ever-hope-for would fall into our arms. Brylcreem certainly helped Ed “Kookie” Burns make a career for himself, but I’m not sure the gooey stuff otherwise lived up to its rep. “Watch out, the girls’ll all pursue you, they’ll love to get their fingers in your hair” warbled a choir of 1950's horny gentlemen on the omnipresent commercials as a male and female puppet found romance when the male puppet’s hair went from shaggily disheveled to gloppily sheveled. Maybe primitive wooden puppets and ultra-cool Fifties' dudes achieved feminine fingers in their hair, but all I got was a greasy pompadour until one day the Beatles appeared and washed it all away.
Zorro, in the sanitized Disney tradition, was a light-hearted look at a masked, mustachioed and caped crusader of Old California whose adventures exuded no sense of danger whatsoever. Talk about suspension of disbelief: Don Diego de la Vega looked, spoke, and comported himself so exactly like the alleged scoundrel Zorro that it was impossible to believe even the doltish Sergeant Garcia couldn’t figure out who he was, let alone the general populace of the future state. To add to the basic lameness of the show, the lightning strike at the opening and the very “Z” that Zorro carved were obviously animated. Still, Zorro and his brocade-clad alter ego were suavely played by Guy Williams --- later to go mustache-less on Lost in Space ---and for little kids not used to much sophistication in the 50’s, Zorro-Zorro-Zorro was fun-fun-fun!
Imagine the questions you’d get if you were introducing the Hula Hoop to the world today: “How much RAM do you need? Does it play on X-Box? Is there an app for it on the I-Phone?" Well, the instructions were simply to wrap the plastic hoop with the staple in the middle about your middle, jiggle a bit, and have yourself some fun. In many ways the 50’s were less than ideal, with blatant discrimination, no civil rights act, and an environment in which you & I could be rejected for a job easy as Mom’s apple pie. But when it came to sheer satisfaction in the simplicity of the Hula Hoop, the Fabulous Fifties were just fine!
And to them, I bid a further fond farewell!
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