Forever, I would look forward to Labor Day weekend
because of the Jerry Lewis Telethon. The
Telethon’s run seemed to come to an unceremonious end a couple of years
ago. Jerry Lewis, once a show business
superstar, now in his 80s and not well, either “retired” or was let go (dumped),
depending upon the source. With his
departure, the telethon converted to a version that focused on everything that
wasn’t fun about it when he ran the show.
It became more efficient, business-like, shrunken (probably to appeal to
an audience with a short collective attention span), modified, sterile and
corporate. For me, the end of the
Telethon, which I think was a true social and cultural phenomenon, was a reflection of the end
of an American era.
For me, a child of pop culture (and huge Jerry Lewis fan),
the telethon was quintessential bad TV. Knowing
that, while it was pretty lame viewing, but harmless, my parents would allow me
to watch to my heart’s content. My dad
was always pretty sure that I wasn’t quite right in the head, and my fanatic
interest in the telethon clinched his opinion.
The telethon gave us a glimpse of unscripted inside showbizzy
Hollywood. Corny, kitschy, and cool. Lots of cigarette smoking, tuxedos and “clean”
off-color humor. The Jerry Lewis on the
telethon seemed articulate and angry and impatient to me; almost like he was
trying to prove to us that he wasn’t just a clown. Then, when he’d made his point about how cool
and in charge and smart and handsome and not goofy he was, he’d seem to panic and
put in big teeth and drop his pants and yell “LADY!” and run around throwing
stuff. I remember being 10 years old or
so and thinking that he was a very insecure person, but I still thought he was
great.
For me, the telethon was an amalgam of the “entertainment”
I watched with my parents every night on TV when I was growing up. For sure, the world seemed smaller then, and
simpler, and naïve and innocent in a way.
Variety shows, family viewing, were still very popular during the 60s
and 70s. With very few exceptions, everything on primetime television (and this
was reflected in the Telethons) was aimed at a broad demographic audience. This
was with 4 networks to choose from, tops.
Years later, as a parent, I often thought about how the new shows my
kids watched were barely tolerable to me, but we would all enjoy watching Brady
Bunch and Monkees reruns together.
Anyway, back to the telethon. I remember talking to people who had never
watched it, and they thought I was nuts to stay up late to watch what they
thought was horribly boring stuff. Oh well. Those naysayers never got to watch Jerry
doing the typewriter pantomime for the thousandth time. They never got to see Rip Taylor throw bags
of confetti at the band at midnight. They
never got to see Sammy Davis Jr., drink and cigarette in hand, sing “What Kind
of Fool Am I?” live. They missed Julius
LaRosa and Tony Orlando hosting frantic offsite segments of the telethon from
WOR in NY. They missed Las Vegas-based singers
and jugglers and impressionists and stand-up comics. They never got to watch Wayne Newton, with
his big gold Elvis belt and sequins, his hair shoeshine black and slicked back,
croaking “Swanee” live (he’d play a dozen instruments, desperate to impress us)
from Las Vegas at 2am Eastern time. They
missed watching Jerry Lewis, choked with emotion, sing “You’ll Never Walk Alone”
at the end of the show. He usually
couldn’t finish, and he’d drop the microphone and walk off the stage; their
loss.
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