Dispatch #314: Marty Krofft 1937-2023

 

Marty Krofft shares the stage with H.R. Pufnstuf

    Marty Krofft—who, along with his brother Sid—produced some of the most imaginative kids shows ever seen on American TV, has died at the age of 86.

     Most of my Saturday mornings during the late 1960s and early 1970s were spent on the living room floor in front of my family's TV, where I eagerly watched Krofft offerings such as H.R. Pufnstuf, Lidsville, Electra Woman and Dyna Girl, Sigmund and the Sea Monsters, and my favorite, Land of the Lost.

     Krofft shows were colorful, wildly creative, and highly original—unlike so much modern children's fare, they weren't based on preexisting toys or games. They were also never mean-spirited or cynical.

     Long before I was reading comic books or watching genre movies, Saturday morning shows by people like Sid & Marty Krofft (along with Joe Barbera & Bill Hanna) really helped to fuel my young imagination. I know my childhood would have been much poorer without them.

    Writer Mark Evanier, who worked on several Krofft projects over the years, published a nice piece about his former boss at his blog, where he also recommends a Variety obit for Marty that's a good overview of a remarkable career.

Marty Krofft (1937-2023) R.I.P.

  There's more to come in the next dispatch.

  ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #311: The Strange Death of WKJG

 

    Yesterday marked the 70th anniversary of Fort Wayne's first local TV station, WKJG-TV 33. It should have been a big local story, but it wasn't—primarily because the station many of us grew up with doesn't really exist in 2023.

   WKJG made its debut as an NBC affiliate on November 21st, 1953 (CBS affiliate WANE joined the local line-up in 1954, followed by ABC's WPTA in 1957). 33 was owned by William Kunkel, who also owned Fort Wayne's morning newspaper, the Journal Gazette, which explains the origin of WKJG as its call letters.

  Perhaps because it was the oldest station in town, but I always perceived WKJG as a bit stodgy when I was a kid. The on-air personnel—Hilliard Gates, Dick Floria, Dick DeFay, Wayne Rothgeb—seemed older to me than anchors at the other two stations, and more like teachers I knew from school.

    Even so, WKJG could be a comforting presence. I was a big fan of WKJG's John Siemer, for instance—known to legions of Fort Wayne kids for his Engineer John cartoon show. 

  For years the station was also home to local reruns of the classic Star Trek series. I still remember WKJG promotions director Larry Bower dressing up as a Klingon to hype the show in a memorable local ad.

   I first knew WKJG was in trouble early in 2003 when the channel's new owners promptly renamed it WISE-TV "in honor" of the station's 50th anniversary. Unfortunately, things only got worse in the years that followed.

  In the digital TV era, all NBC programming would be eventually relegated to channel 21.2, a secondary digital offering from WPTA—our local ABC affiliate—which prioritized their local newscasts at the expense of the WISE staff (I can only imagine what Dick Florea thought about that).

  WISE itself evolved into local digital channel 33.1, becoming home to programming from the CW instead of NBC. So, in November 2023 on the 70th anniversary of WKJG's debut, what really remains of the old station? Precious little, apparently.

   The story of how the Summit City's pioneering TV station first lost its call letters, then it's personnel, and finally its network identity, is a very strange one indeed (and a little sad, too). 

   While we're on the subject, someday I'll have to relate the strange tale a retired Fort Wayne first responder once told me about an odd encounter with WANE-TV legend Ann Colone in downtown Fort Wayne—a story that's been kept very hush-hush in the Summit City for decades.

  There's more to come in the next dispatch.

  ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #310: On the Color of Mailboxes

 

Red, White, & Blue vs. Blue & White

   I watch a lot of vintage TV, and something occurred to me the other day after watching an episode of Mannix followed by The Streets of San Francisco.

  I can usually pin down when an old show originally aired from the hairstyles or clothing, but another way to narrow it down is to note the color of U.S. Post Office mailboxes on streetcorners.

  In 1955, the U.S. Postmaster General decreed that all street collection boxes would be painted red, white, and blue—and they stayed that way for 15 years. 

  Cost-cutting during the Nixon administration mandated a simpler blue-and-white color scheme (eliminating red would save money, the feds claimed). Although the USPS eagle logo has been streamlined, the boxes remain blue to this day.

  Mannix aired on CBS from 1967-1975, but as soon as I spotted a red-and-blue mailbox on a streetcorner in the episode I was watching, it was a pretty safe bet that it was filmed prior to 1970 (it turned out to be from April,1968).

  The Streets of San Francisco, on the other hand, aired on ABC from 1972-1977, so naturally all the streetcorner collection boxes seen in that show are of the blue-and-white variety.

   Anyway, the next time you watch an old movie or TV show, see if you can spot any mailboxes in the street scenes—and if you do, take note of the color scheme. 

   I suppose you could make a drinking game out of it, but I don't know how fun it would be. Sightings of those boxes in those old shows are infrequent, so you'd probably never empty your first glass.

  There's more to come in the next dispatch.

  ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #289: Fort Wayne's Horror Hosts

 

WPTA's Shock Theater in the 1950s (left), the 1970s (center), and WFFT's Nightmare Theater (right) in the 1980s

I've covered some of this material previously at this blog, but it's just a little over a week until Halloween, so what the heck...

Today's Dispatch spotlights Fort Wayne's horror hosts—that trio of spooky gentlemen who fronted broadcasts of horror movies on local TV over the years.

The first was WPTA's Dr. Meridian, who hosted their weekly airings of classic Universal Horror movies from their Shock Theater syndication package in the late 1950s. As the good doctor was before my time, I have no idea what he looked like or if his hosting style was campy or sinister.

Actor Jeff Gibson's Asmodius was the frontman for WPTA's Shock Theater airings in the 1970s that I watched religiously as a kid. Gibson's tone changed gradually during his tenure, going from mostly serious to fairly campy. Years later, I got to meet my childhood horror host when we worked together briefly at a Fort Wayne bookstore.

Finally, Summit City residents in the 1980s thrilled to weekly visits from The Shroud, a black-clad figure portrayed by Don Paris on WFFT's Nightmare Theater. In sepulchral tones, the deadly serious Shroud dispensed fascinating bits of trivia about the classic monster flicks he showed each week.  

In the early 1980s, I got to meet Paris in his Shroud persona when he did an autograph signing at Dick Stoner's legendary magic/gag shop in downtown Fort Wayne.

Sadly, the era of Fort Wayne horror hosts came to an end when Nightmare Theater ended its run on WFFT. These days, Summit City residents have to get their Saturday night fright-flick fix with out-of-town horror hosts such as Svengoolie or Lord Blood-Rah.

My childhood experiences watching Jeff Gibson's Asmodius led me to create the fictional horror-host Count Mortius, frontman for the Shock Theater broadcasts beloved by 12-year-old Samantha "Lizzie" Stanton in my e-book, Samantha Stanton and the Mysterious Library.

There's more to come in the next dispatch.

 ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #271: David McCallum

     Hot on the heels of yesterday's obit for author Allan Asherman comes word of another passing: actor David McCallum has died at age 90.

    Among Baby Boomers, McCallum is best remembered for his portrayal of secret agent Illya Kuryakin on The Man from U.N.C.L.E. in the 1960s, while modern TV audiences knew him as Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard (a character he played for 20 years) on NCIS.

     Whenever I think of McCallum, it's usually for his science-fiction & horror roles on TV, such as the two stellar Outer Limits episodes he starred in: The Sixth Finger and The Forms of Things Unknown, an atmospheric Night Gallery entitled The Phantom Farmhouse, a short-lived 1975 NBC series, The Invisible Man, and—years after its original run ended on British TV—I enjoyed MaCallum's pairing with Joanna Lumley in their proto X-Files show, Sapphire and Steel.

     In the YouTube video embedded above, you can listen to Henry Mancini's classy theme to NBC's The Invisible Man, which starred McCallum, Melinda Fee, and Craig Stevens.

     David McCallum (1933-2023) R.I.P.

     "Closing Channel D..."

     There's more to come in the next dispatch.

     ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #270: Allan Asherman

 

The Star Trek Compendium (first edition, 1981)

     Some sad news in today's dispatch: according to a post over at Mark Evanier's blog, writer Allan Asherman has died. Mike Glyer posted a reminiscence about Asherman here. 

     Over the years, Asherman wrote for Castle of Frankenstein, The Monster Times, and DC Comics, but it was his work on the Star Trek Compendium that I remember him for most fondly.

     Long before the internet enabled anyone to instantly summon production credits on any film or TV show, that information wasn't easily available to those outside the entertainment business.

     That's why I cheered the arrival of Mr. Asherman's Star Trek Compendium in bookstores back in 1981. It not only offered detailed credits for all three seasons of the original Star Trek series and The Motion Picture but also lots of fascinating behind-the-scenes production trivia. 

     Asherman's Compendium was reprinted and expanded by Simon & Schuster's Pocket Books multiple times, but I can still remember my excitement at picking up the first edition at the Waldenbooks inside Fort Wayne's Southtown Mall back in 1981. 

    Along with Bjo Trimble's Star Trek Concordance, Mr. Asherman's Star Trek Compendium was an invaluable resource for Trek fans in the pre-internet era. 

     Allan Asherman (1947—2023) R.I.P.

There's more to come in the next dispatch.

©2023 SummitCityScribe