Goldie Hawn wasn't there but many other folks involved in Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In were present last evening as the Museum of Television and Radio honored a breakthrough comedy series of the sixties.  The dais consisted of producers George Schlatter and Ed Friendly, writer Chris Bearde, musical contributors Ian Bernard and Billy Barnes, and performers Dick Martin, Ruth Buzzi, Lily Tomlin, Arte Johnson, Alan Sues, Gary Owens and Joanne Worley.  Ms. Worley allowed others to talk, but not often.  As usual for these events, clips from the show were run and then the panel talked about what it was like to work on the series.  Among the sizzling revelations we heard were that Arte Johnson got in trouble with the Polish Anti-Defamation League for telling a gibberish joke in double-talk Polish (they assumed it was dirty); that Alan Sues once stuck his head up Kate Smith's dress; that Richard Nixon used the "f" word; that the censors gave them a lot of hassle; and that Judy Carne never wore underwear.

I was a big fan of Laugh-In, and I enjoy watching the reruns that air now on the Trio cable channel — or, actually, I did enjoy watching them until I realized they only have about 40 shows that they run over and over and over.  (Someone let me know if they ever get more.)  But then I always enjoyed the show.  In my teen years, when I started writing comic books for Disney, I'd take the bus to Burbank, drop my work off at the lot, then walk over to NBC and talk my way into a Laugh-In taping.  Only a few segments ever had a formal audience but when they were taping short comedy bits, as they always seemed to be, you could sit in the bleachers if you seemed even remotely connected.  So I can verify what they all said last night, which was that their tapings were enormous fun which transferred to the air.  Years later, I worked on a Laugh-In imitation that was taped in the same studio.  Its tapings were not a lot of fun, and I think it showed.

Not much else to report about the evening.  Lily Tomlin is brilliant, but you already know that.  It was nice to see George Schlatter and Dick Martin together, proving that old feuds can be buried.  I was a little bothered that so many folks who worked on the show — in front of and behind the camera — went unmentioned: Not a word about Larry Hovis or Richard Dawson or Johnny Brown or Teresa Graves or Chelsea Brown or Barbara Sharma or Dennis Allen or about three dozen more, plus most of the writers.  But other than that, I had a great time, and so did a whole auditorium of people who remember Laugh-In fondly.

By the way: If you can't get Trio and want to see old episodes of Laugh-In, they're coming out on video.  The initial push — via a Gunthy-Renker website and upcoming infomercials — seems to be towards getting folks to sign up for a subscription.  You know the kind: First one's cheap, then every month or so they send you another volume and bill your credit card at a higher price.  I don't go for those and, if you have a lick of sense, neither do you.  But the tapes and DVDs should be available soon after on a pay-as-you-go basis.  I'll let you know when I see them being sold that way.

Biljo White, who passed away last week, was one of the pioneers of comic book fandom both in terms of history — in 1964, he first published Batmania — and the creation of amateur comics.  He drew many such strips but his most famous was The Eye, a freakish crimefighter with an eyeball for a head, far weirder than any evil-doer he vanquished.  By day, White was a hero in his own right — a fireman in Columbia, MO — and one with a lifelong interest in comics.  He actually purchased Batman #1 off the racks in 1940 and amazingly, his mother didn't throw it out.  In fact, he amassed a truly splendid collection of comics with the emphasis on the Caped Crusader.  The comics also inspired William J. White to take up drawing.

Sadly, in the mid-fifties when he journeyed to New York and sought employment at DC Comics, the experience was discouraging enough to un-inspire him — at least on comics as a profession.  Thereafter, he did them only for fun, and it showed.  I never had the pleasure of meeting the man they called "Cap'n Biljo," but I followed and enjoyed his work.

For more on Biljo White, check out Bill Schelly's excellent article on him done for Alter Ego.

A lot of articles like this one and this one are attempting to discuss why Phil Donahue's MSNBC talk show was cancelled.  They all seem to be analyzing it in terms of whether or not (a) there's a market for liberal viewpoints and/or (b) whether MSNBC was just plain afraid to have an anti-war advocate on the air if and when we start leveling Iraq.

All those points may be valid but no one seems to be noting that all the shows on MSNBC either get cancelled or, like Hardball With Chris Matthews, certainly have the ratings to justify termination.  If Donahue was axed because the audience isn't there for a liberal talk show host, what was the reason for dropping Alan Keyes Is Making Sense, apart from the fact that he so rarely did?

They also seem to be ignoring the simple possibility — which dawned on me, first time I saw it — that Donahue's show wasn't all that good.  I like the guy but I don't like the 9-minute questions which involve attacking the guest's position three times and apologizing twice before allowing him to reply, then cutting him off to go to commercial.  Once in a while, Phil connected — but I always found better things to do than waiting for that to happen.

There may be no market for a liberal political talk show, I don't know.  But there are certainly plenty of other reasons for the failure of Phil Donahue's show, starting with the fact that it was on a channel that no one ever watches.  Perhaps Michael Savage and Jesse Ventura will fare better, but that will have more to do with theatrics than politics.

Just changed a line in the piece below about Mr. Rogers.  I originally wrote he was on TV for 22 years.  Actually, I meant to write that his best-known series was on for 22 years, which is what some obits say — but it turns out that's not accurate, either.  Fred Rogers did his first TV shows around '51 or '52 and did his last episode in 2001 — an amazing achievement.  Thanks to Mark Thorson for keeping me honest.

The one thing I can tell you about Mr. Rogers is that he was the real deal.  Unlike some celebrities who have a wholesome, kindly image on camera and then go home and slap their offspring, Fred Rogers was the same gentle, soft-spoken man on and off.  I never found his show particularly watchable but, of course, it wasn't meant for me — or you, if you were older than about six.  Obviously, since he was on TV for some 50 years, he managed to connect with his intended audience, and that longevity is all the more impressive when you consider how it was done: Without lights and explosions and special effects or anything of the sort.  He did it without ever altering his act…because it wasn't an act.

I met him once, very briefly, but it was long enough to see this and I wrote about it back here. This was at one year's Licensing Show in New York. He was there, I was with someone who knew him and they asked, "Would you like to meet him?" and of course I would…

Introductions were made…and I was instantly struck by how Mr. Rogers was exactly the same in person as he was on-screen. Exactly. He talked the same, he smiled the same, he acted the same — which meant that on TV, he wasn't acting at all. I should have known better but, trying to get a chuckle out of him, I said, "It's an honor to meet you even though you beat me out for an Emmy Award."

Big mistake, Mark. Mr. Rogers suddenly acted like I was in need of medium-level grief counseling. He said, oh so kindly, "Now, young man, you shouldn't feel bad about such things. Awards are not the measure of what we do. I'm sure you did something of great value if it was nominated and the pride in that work should be your reward…"

"Well, I was just kidding. Actually, I thought it was great that you won and —"

"Because if you feel good about yourself, that's all that should ever matter. The approval of others is nice to have, of course, but it should never be a necessity in your life."

"It isn't," I said — and at that moment, all sorts of smartass quips, most of them self-deprecating, were racing through my mind. They were drowned-out by some part of my brain shouting at me, "Don't try to be funny! He takes things literally!"

So I said to him, "I'm sorry. I gave you a wrong impression. I was just trying to say it really was an honor to meet you."

And so help me, he grinned and said something that to him at that second I'm sure was absolutely true. He said, "Well, it's an honor to meet you, too!" And then he turned to some people near us and introduced me to them as his new friend. Even remembered my name and pronounced it properly, which I don't always do.

Mr. Rogers was not humorless but you could tell he treated everyone and everything they said with utter and literal reverence.  Moments later, I watched as he met some children and spoke to them with the same total commitment of dignity and attention he was giving to the adults around him.  Some of those adults — this was at a seminar of broadcasting executives — could have meant a lot to his career and bank account, but that didn't matter.  Everyone got treated the same, which is to say with respect and importance.  He said to everyone, "It's a pleasure to meet you," and he seemed to really feel that way.

Like I said, I never warmed to his show.  But I sure like the fact that someone like that could have a show — and that he could succeed for so long, just being himself.

We've been experiencing some technical difficulties with this site — not my fault, but I apologize to those of you who had trouble getting in here over the last twelve hours.  It's being fixed.

I'm swamped, but here's a link to a new column by Terry Jones of Monty Python fame.

Over at the website for Turner Classic Movies, they're always posting some great clip that you can view online.  Right this moment — it will change soon — they're offering us "So You Want To Be A Gambler," a Joe McDoakes short starring George O'Hanlon (whose name they insist on spelling wrong).  Depending on which browser you're using and whether I've figured out how to bypass a network of JavaScript pop-ups, this link may take you to it.  But if not, go to their main page and look around.  For that matter, there are a lot of great clips on their multimedia page and on their trailers page.  (If those links don't work, go to their main page and use the drop-down menus at the top.)

On the latter page, there are many treasures including a trailer for the real movie of The Music Man with Robert Preston delivering some special promotional lyrics to the opening of "76 Trombones."  I believe there was a longer version in the original trailer but even this much is a fine treat.  Here's a link that may work or you may have to root about.  It's great to see Mr. Preston in his signature role.  If you saw the Matthew Broderick version and would like to catch The Music Man as God intended it to be seen — filmed in America with people who fit the roles — Turner Classic Movies is running the movie March 3, or you can order the DVD by clicking here.  Preston is wonderful and mesmerizing, Shirley Jones is wonderful and pregnant, and everyone else is just plain wonderful.

The latest thing the TV schedulers are doing to screw with those of us who TiVo:  The NBC network broadcasts of Saturday Night Live are now officially 91 minutes long — from 11:30 PM to 1:01 AM.  This was done deliberately to foul up my Season Pass for the To Tell the Truth reruns on Game Show Network that start (in my time zone) at 1:00 AM.

If any opinion in the comic strip world approaches unanimity, it's that Walt Kelly was a great cartoonist and that Pogo was a great comic strip.  Those who know it love it.  Those who don't know would love it if only they knew it.  Even as a small kid, too unseasoned to understand every word of its unique dialect, I could tell it was funny.  You just look at it and you can see it's full of funny characters with funny expressions and funny postures, so I just assumed that if I could ever understand everything those funny characters were saying, it too would be funny.  Well, it was.  It was also profound and insightful and even, at times, poetic.  Walter Crawford Kelly was not only a cartoonist, he was a poet.  And a song writer.  And even a singer of his own silly songs.

He proved this with a 1956 book and record album, Songs of the Pogo, both filled with wonderful tunes, some of which he sings.  Want to hear a sample?  If you have Windows Media Player installed, click here and you'll hear Mr. Kelly himself vocalizing "Go-Go Pogo" in its two-minute entirety.  Then click here and go to the website of Parasol Records, where you can purchase — for a paltry twelve bucks — the new CD reissue of Songs of the Pogo, complete with previously-unreleased Pogo tracks, including rehearsal sessions, and some of Kelly's other records that weren't included on the album.

I've played my copy of the LP record over and over and over.  Now, I get to play the CD over and over and over.  You will, too.

The funniest thing I've seen on the web lately is this.  If you think you get an error message, look again.

Posting here may be light for the next day or three, but I wanted to link to this article about the Death Penalty.  If you're interested in the topic, this one's well worth a read.

Also: Over at Cartoon Research, Jerry Beck is giving away 16mm prints of those rotten Popeye cartoons made in the sixties.  They're free, but if I were you, I'd hold out for a better deal.  Within three weeks, Jerry will be paying people to take them.  A much better deal is this link he provides today.  It's to a wonderful site that displays advertising artwork done by Theodore "Dr. Seuss" Geisel.  Good stuff, and it's also free.

This coming week, the PBS series Great Performances is airing Kiss Me, Kate — a taping of the London company of the revival that opened in New York in 2000.  I enjoyed this version all three times I saw it — twice in New York, once in L.A.  The touring company that hit Los Angeles featured Rachel York, who was in the London production (and is in what PBS is airing) and who is fabulous in this and everything she does.  You can find out all about this broadcast and even view online clips here.

They've just released the complete third (and for my money, best) season of the M*A*S*H TV show on DVD.  This is the year that ends with Henry Blake getting on that helicopter and sailing off into sitcom history and oblivion at the same time.  You can purchase this splendid collection from the Amazon folks by clicking here.  And while you're at it, feel free to order the first season and the second season.  These DVDs come with an option to turn off the laugh track, for which we have Great Britain to thank.  Unlike CBS, the British TV broadcasters wanted to run the show without any artificial guffaws, so Twentieth-Century Fox never did a composite audio track.  On their master copies, they kept the laughs on separate channels so they could strike off prints with or without.  "Without" is much better.

But forget about that; let's discuss that DVD cover.  Maybe my memory is failing but wasn't McLean Stevenson a lot taller than Gary Burghoff?  Wasn't that part of the charm of those two men working together?  For that matter, wouldn't the cover scene be funnier if the two guys were back-to-back but their backs didn't line up?  And while we're at it, might not the cover be more appealing if Mr. Burghoff's head weren't so obviously pasted onto someone else's body?  (Matter of fact, it wouldn't surprise me if that's a woman's body.)  Add to this the fact that the entire pose is out of character for Henry Blake and Radar, as well as the mood of the series, and you have to wonder what — if anything — was going through the brain of whoever designed this sucker.  They should have put him on that helicopter.

Why hasn't there been more outcry over this?  From a recent issue of the Washington Post…

That most lamentable duct tape suggestion last week by a Homeland Security official — which drove countless panicked citizens out to buy the product — has been widely derided as useless and pretty crazy.  But maybe not so crazy.  Turns out that nearly half — 46 percent to be precise — of the duct tape sold in this country is manufactured by a company in Avon, Ohio.  And the founder of that company, that would be Jack Kahl, gave how much to the Republican National Committee and other GOP committees in the 2000 election cycle?  Would that be more than $100,000?

For the full story, click here.

In 1950, the musical Gentlemen Prefer Blondes debuted on Broadway and the tradition of the Gypsy Robe was born.  A chorus boy named Bill Bradley (presumably no relation to the basketball player-turned-Senator) started it, creating a "lucky robe" from a dressing gown donated by the one of the chorus girls.  Since Gentlemen Prefer Blondes was a hit, Bradley wanted to transfer some of that good fortune on to friends in the choruses of other new shows.  He passed the robe on to a friend in the next show to open on Broadway, which was Call Me Madam.  It was another hit — possibly because of Ethel Merman and a terrific score, but more likely due to that robe.

Since then, with few exceptions, the superstition has persisted for the Broadway openings of shows with a line of "gypsies" (i.e., a singing-dancing chorus).  Opening night, everyone gathers on stage an hour before curtain and a robe is presented by a representative of the last show to open.  There are all sorts of rules and rituals, and the Gypsy Robe has a glorious history which you can read about here.