Farewell To A Pachyderm Princess

You have probably heard that Penny, the 51-year-old elephant at the KC Zoo, has passed away.  She was something else.  Very much marching to her own drummer.  I met her briefly when we did a zoo special.  One of my jobs involved the elephants and a shovel.   Not unlike what I do on a daily basis, when you come right down to it.  I chatted with Penny as I worked.

 Yes, our conversation was severely truncated…trunk-ated.  But, that years-ago visit reminds me of other mammoth memories.

KING TUSK!  One year, when the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey circus was in town, the big star was a BIG star:  King Tusk.  He was nearly 15,000 pounds and over 12 feet tall.  True to his name, he had two long…six and seven foot…tusks.  My oldest brother, Randy, loves sweet corn so much we call him King Husk.  However, he has never been featured, so far as we know, by the Greatest Show On Earth.  There was a travelling carnival that came through town once that wanted to put Randy on display as “The Amazing Randu:  The World’s Hairiest Man Eating The Most Sweet Corn In One Breath!!!!”  Nothing came of it, however, when the sign painter passed out from the paint fumes before being able to finish the title card.

King Tusk was the focus of my story for the evening news.   After giving all the important stats, the exciting climax of the tale involved my taking a seat on the tusks and being lifted skyward.  Frankly, the royal giant looked a little bored with this shtick.  Clearly, at every stop, he had to elevate some local TV loser like me.  But, as the rider, I can attest it was an interesting experience.  One false move and I could have been moved to the soprano section in the church choir.  But, King Tusk was gentle with me and I made it through the ups and downs of that particular assignment with my pants, if not my limited dignity, in tact.

POOP HEADS!  One man’s art is another man’s, uh, elephant dung.  I did a story about one of the elephant-keepers at the KC Zoo, a number of years back, who just plain stepped in some future artistic expression while cleaning up after his large-eared friends.  He decided to use the exotic meadow muffins left behind the behinds in some new and fascinating ways.  After allowing adequate drying time, he would paint faces on the pachyderm piles and, then, market them.  He used a different name than “Poop Heads.”  So, while I apologize if you are offended by the title of this subsection, rest assured it could have been much worse. 

For example:  Caca Countenances.  Face Feces.  Facial Fertilizer.  Droppings Displays.  Manure Masks.  Expressive Excrement.  Not to mention a few that aren’t suitable for this family friendly fodder.  Also, I hope you weren’t standing downwind while reading this part of the e-rticle.

I don’t do hardly any feature stories for the news anymore.  They have real reporters, now.  The stuff I did was quite often silly and a little off-the-wall.  The features often didn’t have any redeeming value other than to provide a smile or two.  In today’s news climate, that kind of thing is not a priority, I guess.  But, back when I was regular contributor and a story like this one came along…Elephant Pile Profiles…I was the go-to guy…the first person the producers and news director thought of as “perfect” to tell the tale!  I wonder why?

BABS ON THE LOOSE!  My final mammoth memory has nothing to do with a news story.  It comes from my childhood.  Once we had a little circus, Carson and Barnes, come to town and set up shop in the grade school playing field.  Among the things to see, was a seemingly placid pachy.  After spending the day helping put up the tent, this six-ton leathery lady, named Barbara,  decided to take in the sights of Sauk-Prairie, Wisconsin.  Barb ended up at Maplewood Nursing Home and made her way inside.

Nobody, including Barbara, was hurt but I can imagine some of the quizzical looks at the nurse’s station when residents reported an elephant on the move.  Certainly, types and levels of medication were quickly checked.  Eventually, the authorities…meaning some embarrassed circus folks and nervous police officers…arrived and calmed the situation.  It was an event nobody in my town will ever forget.  There is still a sign in that hallway of Maplewood that says “CAUTION:  ELEPHANT X-CROSSING.”

I have a soft spot for elephants due in part to all of these encounters and because as I get older, I am getting larger, grayer and tend to snort more often than before.  Also, one of the first jokes I ever remember hearing and  stealing was this:

What’s the difference between an elephant and banana?

Have you ever tried to peel an elephant?

Who Oughta Be In Pictures?

We had a little movie-house down on Water Street, back in my hometown, that was called the Midway Theater, now it’s the Bonham. Didn’t matter what was playing on a Saturday afternoon. If you were a kid and had a couple of dollars, you’d go. It was upstairs from the bowling alley and you could quite often hear the strikes and spares during the movie. If it was a war picture, it just sounded like a battle scene. But, in a comedy or drama or musical, it could be distracting.

Like the opening scene of The Sound of Music when Julie Andrews comes tearing across that mountain top, just as she opened her mouth to sing, someone must have rolled a turkey downstairs because it sounded like “Maria” belched. Maybe too many Austrian sausages.

Most of the movies that came through town had already been out for quite a while or had not done very well. I remember seeing every Dr. Phibes (starring Vincent Price) movie ever made, there, and most of the post-Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis movies, as well.

The first movie I ever saw in a theater was Mary Poppins. I loved it…especially when Dick Van Dyke danced with the penguin waiters. However, for some reason that never was clear to me, my dad never liked Julie Andrews. Maybe he thought she really had let one rip at the start of that other movie. He always thought she acted a little too nice…a little too sweet. I’d like to imagine that he and Miss Andrews had been through some torrid romance during World War II which ended badly…he traipsed back to the north woods of Wisconsin while she went onto stardom. The trouble there is, the only accurate part of the story is that he did traipse back to the north woods of Wisconsin. No matter, he just never warmed up to Julie Andrews.

If you ask my mom the latest movie she saw in the theater that she really liked, her answer would be Cactus Flower, starring Goldie Hawn and Walter Matthau…circa 1969. It is a funny movie…but, 1969? It had been awhile before that since she had been to the movies. I seem to remember her being amazed by the Technicolor and, saying, with reverence, “It was a talkie!” Okay, I may be overdoing that but she was not and is not a real movie-goer.

When I was about eight years old, we were on a family trip up north in Chetek, Wisconsin and, due to a rainy day which kept us off the lake, we all went to a movie. It was set in the 1930′s and was supposed to be about dancing and big-band music. Seemed right up my parent’s alley. Well, we all settled into the darkened row. My dad on the outside, then a brother, then my mom, then another brother, then me and then another brother. Instead of a happy, upbeat pastiche of good fun and great music it turned out to be a real downer. The title should have tipped us off: They Shoot Horses Don’t They? It starred Jane Fonda and Gig Young and was about dance marathons. Very sad and gloomy. We would’ve been happier outside in the rain.

The only thing I really remember is that there was a shower scene. That’s about all I can tell you as, just as the water started running and the camera focused in on the scrubbing bubbles, a hand swooped in over my eyes. It was my mom’s hand. Now, she is not a tall person. How she got her short, little arm stretched all the way past my other brother and over my eyes, is still a physical feat I don’t quite comprehend. All of sudden she was Inspector Gadget.

There are a few other movies I remember from those years like Oliver. My brothers all thought that musicals were unintentionally hilarious…after all, how often does someone just burst into song while waiting for a taxi or buying a pair of shoes? Sometimes, after seeing a film like Oliver, my brothers would, for several days sing things like “I’m going to the bathroom now. Then I will take a bow. Just remember, if you go, don’t smirk. It’s not over ’til you’re done with the paperwork!” Always, at the top of their lungs. They wanted me to sit through that movie because the kid playing the Artful Dodger reminded them of me. Maybe his looks or, more likely, his questionable character.

As a kid, it was a big deal when a theatrical release finally made it to one of the three networks. Now, it seems like just a matter of moments before you can be watching the hits in your own home.

Speaking of watching hit movies at home, I remember a winter Saturday quite sometime ago, when then 11-year-old, Harrison, and I watched a great movie.  It was called The Public Enemy starring James Cagney. From about 1931 or so. It was terrific, although, now, we did have to break Harrison from rubbing grapefruit in his sister’s face and falling, like a mummy, in the front door and scaring his mother half to death.

That’s entertainment!

I Caught A Cold

Whiner Alert!

I have caught a cold.  I don’t know why we say “caught” as if it is something we all pursue with happy, reckless abandon.  I’m also not sure why we say “under the weather.”  My extensive research, meaning I Googled it, indicates that the phrase may be from sailors who got seasick and went below deck putting them “under the weather.” 

The Skipper…flirting with Bird Flu!

These are the types of things one thinks about when in a Robitussin stupor.

Truth be told, I don’t get sick very often.  As those of you who work odd, overnight kind of hours well know, the amazing thing is not that we get a cold now and then.  The amazing thing is that we don’t have a cold all the time.  Lack of sleep…and the right kind of deep sleep, in particular…is a major health crusher.  Speaking just for me, getting up in the middle of the night to head for work gets harder as I get older.  At some point, my six alarm clocks won’t be enough.  Some morning I just won’t be able to answer the bell…uh, bells.

Again, ramblings of a stuffed-up head and rattling chest.  Mixed in with all the “poor me” nonsense is a memory of one of the last times I was a mucous factory.

Well, I was asking for it that time around.

A few years back, our second oldest son, Taylor, came home from school complaining about how lousy he felt. His throat was scratchy. His head was stuffed up. He sounded pretty rough. Instead of expressing parental empathy, I got cocky. “Oh, quit your (pronounced ‘kwitcher’) whining (pronounced ‘whinin’)! I am over twice your age and I haven’t gotten sick in years! Ha Ha Ha!” I sneeringly replied. Within minutes, I could feel the “bleeeaaachh” settle in on me.

When the kids were little, I picked up any germ they brought home. They were like Petri dishes carrying Power Ranger back-packs. Whatever the bacteria or is that bacterium…or is the bacterium where the bacteria go for lunch? Anyhow, every little bug eventually attacked my throat. I firmly believe this has been a sign from above that, just maybe, broadcasting is not the true career path for me. In the early days of FirstNews, I’d have to croak my way through the show a couple of times a year. This was before e-mail and voice-mail but I’d always get a phone call from the same, kindly, worried woman telling me that my laryngitis was due to some very serious…probably terminal… disease. She told me this for five years.

I am sincerely thankful for her concern and for all the remedies that get sent my way when things get froggy. Really, when my voice goes it is not just a frog…it is the whole pond. People have said try tea with honey and lemon…warm, not-yet-firm jello…whiskey (can you imagine how completely unintelligible my forecasts would be if I did that? Okay, not that different.)…Airborne plus Red Hots! That last idea came from some ladies at a Price Chopper in Grandview. The Airborne is good stuff but the Red Hots scare me!

The only real way to get one’s voice back, according to medical types I’ve heard from, is plenty of water plus sleep. Oh, and keep your big yapper closed, for a change! Of course, the producers and co-anchors of FirstNews, as well as the management here at KMBC, are very supportive and encourage me to stay home…even when I’m feeling and sounding okay.

Feeling under the weather really tends to cramp my style. For example, a major part of my parenting technique has to do with raising my voice to a noticeable volume. Known by some children in my house as “yelling.” They all love it when my voice is shot because crinkling my brow and furiously snapping my fingers is much easier to ignore.

The upshot of all this is that Taylor, the original “host body” of this particular head-filling sludge, bounced back quickly,  while I sounded like the poor possessed kid in The Exorcist for many days.

At least my head was just stuffed up and not spinning like a top.  Yet.

Happy Birthday, Betty!

The great Betty White is 90 on Tuesday, January 17!  Here’s a little something I wrote about her a while back.  Yes, it is a repeat but Mrs. Ludden would understand.  She’s in TV and knows all about reruns!

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Yes, I’m on The Betty White Bandwagon!  However, I’ve never been off.  Well, I’ve been off.  In fact, I’m still a little off.  But, that’s in general–not Betty-wise.  What I mean to say is that, while it’s hip to love Betty now, I’ve always been in the fan club.

Of course, she was terrific on Saturday Night Live last weekend.  That was the first SNL my wife and I watched, all the way through, in many years.  It reminded me of how great Betty White always was as part of The Mighty Carson Art Players on The Tonight Show.  Johnny knew he could count on her.

The best Tarzan and Jane, ever!  Johnny and Betty!

I think my first exposure to Betty White–and, by exposure, I do not mean anything for which I could be arrested–was on game shows.  She was a  master of the genre.  (Should that be “mistress” of the genre?  Sounds too racy.) In fact, I feel like I met Betty White because of her husband Allen Ludden.

By the way, that’s the legendary Jack Paar to the right of Allen Ludden.

Not too long ago, I wrote a little something about Mr. Ludden.  The time seems right to, in TV talk, “rerun” it:

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THE PASSWORD IS….

When you think of the giants of broadcasting, certain names jump from out of the ether:  Edward R. Murrow.  Steve Allen.  Lucille Ball.  Johnny Carson.  I would immediately add another:  Allen Ludden.

In addition to being a Ludden-ite, as in an admirer of Allen Ludden,  I am also a bit of a Luddite, as in not an admirer of much modern technology.  But, there are a couple of things about the 21st century I do like: nostalgic cable TV channels and the Digital Video Recorder or DVR.  Those two things are not just modern-day conveniences.  They are modern-day conveyances which let me drift back to the 60s.  I know the 1960s were, historically speaking, a time of great turmoil.  But, on TV…especially during the daytime hours…it was rather serene and cerebral…thanks to Allen Ludden.

Each day I spend about 30 minutes with Allen Ludden.  Sounds like a standing appointment with a psychiatrist, doesn’t it?  Well, maybe it is.  The last couple weeks, the guests on Password, circa mid 60s, have been Carol Burnett, Ross Martin, Bob Crane and Irene Ryan.  All big stars.  All smart and funny folks.  But the true allure of Password was always the host.  

Everything about Password was civil and civilized.  The stars introduced their playing partners and, then, here came Allen.  He entered our living room like we wish everyone would:  a genuine smile of welcome to the guests, to the audience and to those of us watching from home.  Allen Ludden respected the game and made sure we did, too.  One little raised eyebrow to the camera told us more than any rant or rave. 

When we used to make the trek from Kansas City to Lake Wisconsin, on a more regular basis, we always drove through a wonderful little town called Mineral Point, Wisconsin.  There are a lot of great things in that scenic spot but I always thought of Allen Ludden.  It was his hometown.  

Many years ago, I had the privilege to meet and briefly interview the great Betty White.  (She would have to be on any Mount Rushmore of Broadcast Legends, too!)  It was a highpoint of my so-called professional life  that I had the chance to tell her just how special and important Allen Ludden had been to a kid in a small Wisconsin town.  As I get older, and feel more and more removed from what broadcasting used to be, I purposely recall Allen Ludden’s quiet dignity, good humor and courtesy every day as we start the morning news.  In this age when it seems everyone on TV is raising his or her voice, it’s refreshing to hear Allen Ludden’s pitch perfect dulcet tones.  Quiet but forceful.  Funny but not at anyone’s expense.  Smart but not smart-alecky.

As a kid, I always waited for the end of the program when Allen Ludden would lean toward the camera and say “The Password for today is….”  then he’d have something pithy or funny or meaningful to leave for us.  It was always sincere and always heartfelt.  So, let me end this like he might have:  The Password for today is CLASS.  Allen Ludden was and is the very best.  Allen Ludden means CLASS!

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For some reason, I felt compelled to send a copy of the above tribute to Betty White.  I did not expect to hear anything back but I wanted her to see it, if possible. 

A few weeks later, in the mail, I received a hand-written note thanking me for the kind words.  It was signed “Betty”–then, in parentheses (“White-Ludden”)–as if I wouldn’t know who “Betty” was!  It is a prized possession for the whole family.

We still play the original board-game version of Password and, truth be told, based only on one face-to-face meeting, a signed copy of one of her books and that treasured note, we  all think of Betty White as part of our family. 

In fact, our soon-to-be-a-senior daughter, Samantha, wants to invite Mrs. Ludden to her graduation party next year!  Who knows?  Maybe, Betty White would show up!

Let Us Turn Our Thoughts

One of my favorite treasures at the old KMBC building, downtown, was a stack of big, clunky video tapes called Time Capsule. Now, this was in the days before the Internet and before YouTube. Time Capsule could be considered the grandparent to those cyber-ways of looking backward. You could find grainy old video of just about everything on those tapes, from the silly to the serious.

Time Capsule was a big step up for me. As a little kid, I would ask Miss Graf, the librarian, for permission to go down in the basement of our town’s library and look through the old magazines and newspapers. In college, I moved up to microfilm and felt a little bit like Flash Gordon as I scrolled through time.

Actually, putting a tape in a machine and seeing history was a big deal for me. It was easy to get lost in Time Capsule…which probably explains why I got so little work done at the old building.  My excuse for not getting work done at the new building is that I get lost trying to find the Weather Center.

I actually used those tapes to fill in the gaps on some of the feature stories I did for the evening news back in those days. But, there was one story that featured video exclusively from those dusty old cartridges. It was for Martin Luther King Junior Day. Taking clips from his life, I set them to music by James Taylor. I’m sure the combination had been done before and I know it has been done since.

Shed A Little Light by James Taylor

Let us turn our thoughts today
To Martin Luther King
And recognize that there are ties between us
All men and women
Living on the earth
Ties of hope and love
Sister and brotherhood
That we are bound together
In our desire to see the world become
A place in which our children
Can grow free and strong
We are bound together
By the task that stands before us
And the road that lies ahead
We are bound and we are bound