Think.

Game show memories and music.

At my last trip to the post office, I purchased Alex Trebek commemorative stamps. I am a big fan of commemorative stamps, except I hate putting fun stamps on bills. The stamps reminded me of my long history of game-show watching. And so you know: the melody that plays as Jeopardy! contestants write down their Final Jeopardy questions is called Think. Hence this week’s title.

The first-ever game show to be regularly televised (CBS Television Quiz) predates me by about ten years. I’ve never heard of most of America’s ten oldest game shows, some of which originated on radio. In a few early game shows, producers and contestants were accused of being in cahoots, allegedly rigging game outcomes. Programs like The $64,000 Question and Twenty-One were among several to give game shows a black eye. Underscoring their popularity, game shows subsequently became subject to increasing legal scrutiny. After a formal congressional subcommittee investigation in 1959, the Communications Act of 1934 was amended in 1960 to include prohibition of game show fixing.

My game show history begins with Truth or Consequences. According to Wikipedia, TOC was the first game show broadcast on commercially licensed television, circa 1950. Through its run, TOC aired on different networks and was hosted by a gaggle of game show royalty, including Ralph Edwards, Jack Bailey, and Bob Barker. Like many game shows, TOC featured a question-and-answer format; its novelty was if you didn’t answer a question correctly (truth), you suffered the consequences—in the show’s case, perform some kind of zany stunt.

I started watching TOC during the Jack Bailey years. I have a more vivid memory of Jack’s replacement after he left to host a show that asked, “Would YOU like to be Queen for a Day?” His replacement was Bob Barker, later of The Price is Right fame. As a kid, I was more enamored of TOC’s Beulah the Buzzer than Bob, although I admit cringing a bit, knowing that sound meant a contestant was about to be humiliated.

My black-and-white viewing memories include “panel” shows like To Tell the Truth (“Will the real Soupy Sales please stand up?”)—the Bud Collyer version, What’s My Line (remember panelist Arlene Francis?), and I’ve Got a Secret (the Garry Moore days. Remember Betsy Palmer?). I had no idea what some of the panelists did before or when they weren’t being panelists. For instance, I thought IGAS’s Kitty Carlisle’s claim to fame was she was married to playwright Moss Hart; turns out, she was an opera singer and the leading lady in the Marx Brothers’ A Night at the Opera. As a kid, this meant nothing to me. I was too busy trying to determine the truth teller/occupation/secret.

Other shows I watched featured teams of two—a celebrity and a regular person— that (as our kids say) versed each other. I guess the shows’ producers thought the celebrity would attract an audience. Usually, I didn’t care about the celebrity; I was sucked in by the game’s premise. However, I do remember rushing home from school with my friend Barbara to watch Richard Chamberlain play You Don’t Say.

As I refined my game show tastes, I found I preferred “thinking” shows to stunt shows like TOC, Beat the Clock, and (much later) The Gong Show. The exception that proves the rule might be Video Village, but I may have liked that show because I had the home version box game and enjoyed assembling the playing board.

One such thinking show was GE College Bowl, hosted by Allen Ludden. The show debuted on TV from radio in 1959. It aired on Sunday nights and pitted teams of students from two colleges against one another. I still can hear Allen saying, “Five point penalty. Repeat the entire question for Princeton,” when the opposing team rang in early and offered an incorrect response. I rarely could come up with the correct answer, but College Bowl left me in awe of knowledge and inspired me to want to learn, if only to excel at TV games. I also enjoyed Allen Ludden’s hosting prowess, which is probably part of the reason I later became a big fan of Password. That, and I liked games that involved words.

I was ten years old when Match Game with Gene Rayburn premiered. I was just sophisticated enough from sneak-reading my mom’s Henry Miller novels to appreciate the innuendoes of the questions posed to the contestants and the panel of celebrities. I frequently was irked when they didn’t respond with what I thought was the obvious answer. Other games I watched that involved sometimes inappropriate or suggestive material were The Newlywed Game and The Dating Game. The former aimed to coerce newly wedded couples into embarrassing their spouses, and the latter tried to couple contestants, sight unseen, using loaded questions. My favorite part of The Dating Game was the Herb Alpert music that accompanied each “block.” I can’t listen to Whipped Cream and Other Delights without hearing Jim Lang describing the contestants.

The show that was the biggest part of my young childhood was The Price is Right. Bill Cullen with his Coke bottle-thick glasses was the host. Lots of ginger ale and TPIR were part of every school sick day. Eventually, handsome Bob Barker, backed by a bevy of beauties, assumed the host duties. New game segments were added. There were other shows through the years that required retail savvy (e.g., Supermarket Sweep), but none came close to or lasted as long as TPIR (it’s still running!).

By the way, Wikipedia has an alphabetical list of game shows through the years. I can’t believe how many there are/were and how many I haven’t heard of, much less watched.

I wasn’t the only one in my house who loved game shows. My mom became a Concentration aficionado during the Hugh Downs years. I don’t recall her auditioning, but she was a contestant when I was in fifth grade. The show was produced in New York and aired live. My mom took the train the day of her appearance, and my dad took me home from school a bit before lunch to watch her episode. My mom wore a suit she had knit and looked lovely on camera (it never occurred to any of us to take a picture of the TV screen). She made almost all of the matches, but the other contestant solved the puzzle: “A formidable opponent.” I think my mom’s biggest regret was she wouldn’t be able to take the trip to Scotland she had matched. When Hugh Downs left as host of Concentration to assume news-related positions, among his replacements was Alex Trebek, who went on to host my mom’s all-time favorite game show.

When I reached my eighteenth year, I qualified to be a game show contestant (as yet, there were no kid versions of any game shows not specifically aired for youngsters or teens). The first show I tried out for was Jeopardy! I went with Bruce to New York to audition. I didn’t feel well that day, and I don’t think I was dressed appropriately (i.e., I looked too young). I didn’t make it past the first round (this was WAY before the online Jeopardy! test). I also tried out for The $10,000 Pyramid on a trip to New York with Marlyn. I think I made it to the third round of auditions before getting cut. Neither negative outcome dampened my enthusiasm for either show. I still get ridiculously excited when a contestant successfully makes it to the top of the pyramid. It’s not the effect of inflation on the game through the years—it’s now The $100,00 Pyramid—it’s the mastery of the topics and connection of the contestants, or simply the pure rush of adrenaline. And we’ll get to Jeopardy! momentarily.

I had my own 22 minutes (the length of an episode sans commercials) of fame on Wheel of Fortune. I had been a fan since the Chuck Woolery days. The production company held auditions in Philly in November 1985 for the prime time show. I tested at the Barclay Hotel with my friend Joan. The first round consisted of filling in the missing letters of puzzles on individual worksheets, much like one-man Hangman. I aced it. That qualified me to play two rounds against other potential contestants. I EXUDED personality and enthusiasm. A week or so later (just before my birthday), I received a letter: I was IN!

I had a year to schedule my taping in Los Angeles. I didn’t have to worry about potentially having to extend the trip, because the nighttime show was a one-shot deal (the winner did not play in the next day’s show). We decided to make my taping a family trip to California over President’s Weekend 1986. We took the girls but left two-year-old Rob home in the care of our beloved Aunt Liz. Even my parents flew out, capitalizing on the opportunity to visit my mom’s brother and his family.

Meanwhile, I watched every day time and prime time WOF to get as much practice as possible. I was getting really good at recognizing clues to solving the puzzles, like apostrophes and “ing” endings and asking for consonants and vowels you know are in short words like conjunctions. I purchased a dress at Dress Barn. Ali made me a good luck bracelet. In my excitement in getting to the airport, I left my make up bag on our toilet at home, so we needed to hit a department store when we arrived for my few essential Clinique items. Bruce kept the girls’ travel issues in check. On the morning of my taping, they were whining about something, and he told them to knock it off. “You’re not going to spoil your mother’s day,” he admonished them. I hope he knew how much I appreciated his support.

When we arrived at the NBC studios in Burbank where the show was produced, Bruce and the girls took the NBC tour while I quarantined with the other contestants. We were cautioned about interacting with outsiders, family, and audience members (the audience receives the same speech). A week’s worth of shows (five) taped each day. I got to go into “make up” to touch up any potential shine. I got to eat in the infamous NBC commissary, where Vanna made the rounds in a fuzzy pink bathrobe and slippers to wish us all luck. Pat more-or-less avoided the contestants until we taped.

After a walk through of the set to view the prizes you could “purchase” with your winnings (the older version of the show), all of the week’s contestants watched the game in the front row of the audience until it was their turn to play. Once we were seated in the theater (colder and smaller than I had imagined), the audience was brought in. I wasn’t supposed to turn around, but I did, just to see where my family was situated. Typical of their personalities, Bruce was subtly waving to me to turn back around, Ali was bouncing in her seat, and Missy was a sickly green. “Is she okay?” I mouthed to Bruce. “Yes,” he mouthed back. “TURN AROUND!”

When the cameras started rolling, I was disappointed to learn the audience doesn’t announce “Wheel. Of. Fortune” as the show begins. It’s “canned.” So much for the practicing the girls had done. A previous contestant I had spoken to before we left on our trip had given me some tips, the most useful being, Let the puzzle board consume you. Don’t worry about the money. Keep focused on the board. That wasn’t hard to do. The board is huge. The letters leap out at you. You are one with the game.

My episode was the fourth to tape. We were allowed a few practice spins of the wheel, which was heavy and somewhat awkward. The other contestants in my show were Penny, who “made the outfit she was wearing” and was assigned the first position, and Gary, a congenial guy who “got a kick out of coaching his kids’ soccer games” in the middle. I was in the third spot on the right end. When I was introduced, my little family group cheered when Pat said I was from Broomall, Pennsylvania (“Well, somebody knows where that is,” he said). My cute quip in response to his asking about my family was, “I have three wonderful children, they said to say that, and a great husband.” I got a little laugh. And we were underway.

The wheel was not kind that day. We contestants each hit our share of Lose A Turns and Bankrupts, especially Penny. In the first round, I amassed $2400, having figured out the puzzle after only a few letters were revealed (God bless apostrophes) and knowing what letters to ask for. But I spun Lose A Turn. When it was again my turn with the wheel, I was tempted to spin for more letters, but seeing how things were going, I said, “I better solve it. Doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.” And then came that glorious end-of- the-round music. My purchases included the rocking chair that now sits in the old nursery room at our beach house, hair appliances, wallpaper, carpet, and a Gucci gift certificate. The second round played out similar to the first in terms of Bankrupts and Lose a Turns. Once again, I knew the solution, but this time the wheel never got back to me. Gary solved the puzzle: woodburning fireplace. He also won a piece of art—a Batman cartoon print valued at five thousand dollars.

For the third round, the third contestant (me!) got to ask for the first letter. I requested a T. Two appeared. Things had been so rocky, round three was shortened by the warning bell. Pat spun the wheel to determine the amount of our letter guesses. Five thousand dollars! Penny correctly guessed R but didn’t solve. In my head, I already had. Then Gary added the S-es. I was sure he knew it, but he incorrectly guessed Party Hosts. Barely able to contain myself, I asked for a P, the letter little Rob had wanted me to put in play. With a slight squeak, I said, “Party Guests?” And the music played. I could get the prizes I had my eye on from the walk through: a curio cabinet, a glass and brass table, brass lamps, World Book and Childcraft encyclopedias, and another gift certificate. Unfortunately for me, Gary’s Batman print pushed his winnings higher than my $7400, so he went to the final round. The final puzzle was “Lincoln Center.” My dad said even he would have gotten it. Gary won a car.

We were a triumphant group leaving the studio. The day was capped off by our meeting Telly Savalas in our hotel restaurant, the girls delighted to pose with the Cheshire Cat from the TV version of Alice in Wonderland they had recently watched. My WOF episode aired on March 31, 1986. It was the most watched and recorded show in Broomall that night.

Our game show watching days endured. As the kids got older, we would debate whether we should try out for Family Feud, having watched through the Richard Dawson, Ray Coombs, Louie Anderson (thankfully, short-lived), and Richard Karn eras. It was fun to strategize about our family playing order. We still tune in, but not all that regularly, to see Steve Harvey in one of his many show host incarnations. If nothing else is on, we watch the celebrity versions of game shows and a few quiz shows, like Who Wants to Be A Millionaire, with their dramatic music and beyond glitzy sets.

And let’s not forget the game show announcers we’ve known and loved. The legendary Don Pardo. Johnny Olson, who, among his other gigs, invited us to “Come on down! You are the next contestant on The Price is Right!” Johnny was the heart and soul of Mark Goodson-Bill Todman Productions. Gene Wood (Family Feud). Rod Roddy (who followed Johnny Olson on TPIR until his death in 2003. Rich Fields then came on board). And of course, Johnny Gilbert: “This. Is. Jeopardy!”

We also have resurrected old Password, Password Plus, and Super Password episodes on various cable TV networks. Allen Ludden remains the king of the series, but we also enjoy the Bert Convey years. Besides the fun of the game, this show, more than any other, seems to exemplify the changes regarding what can and can’t be said and done on the air these days regarding politics and sexuality. Bert used to rub pregnant women’s tummies and guess the sex of the unborn child. Is touching still allowed? And how about all the kissing and the comments about how pretty the celebrity contestants are? And Greg Morris’ references to race? And Betty White’s unabashed bawdiness? When Super Password originally aired, I vaguely remember being annoyed with all the banter, irritated it took time from the actual game. Now Bruce and I find it entertaining and a great way to put a smile on your face as you drift off to sleep.

And then there was Hollywood Squares. More precisely, the center square, Paul Lynde. I really didn’t care if his answer was True or False or whether Circle or X got the square. I don’t know how host Peter Marshall kept a straight face (actually, most times he didn’t. Sadly, Peter recently died). How do you top the irreverent humor in some of Paul’s responses? I wish we could readily access episodes other than through YouTube. Talk about wouldn’t fly today:

Question: What is a good reason for pounding meat? PL: Loneliness.

Question: Do female ducks croak? PL: Only if you hold their little heads under water long enough.

Question: It is considered bad taste to discuss two subjects at nudist camps. One is politics. What is the other? PL: Tape measures.

And P.S: George Gobel and RoseMarie could give Paul a run for his money. How I loved that show.

But without a doubt, Jeopardy! reigns supreme. The show is a family staple and has been since its debut in 1964 with Art Fleming as host. I was home with the flu and got to watch the whole first week. After I married, I called my parents every night at 7:30 p.m., and not a moment before, knowing they, too, were watching. Before Alzheimer’s claimed her knowledge of more categories than I care to count, my mom kept score of her correct answers. Bruce and I watch the show over our dinner hour; I have my designated Jeopardy! “smart chair.” I have tried to take the online test to be a contestant, but I can’t type my answers fast enough.

Every night, when announcer Johnny Gilbert extols, “And here is your host…” I am momentarily stunned to hear him say, “Ken Jennings!” Alex, it will always be you. I’m so glad you got a stamp.

Thumbs up to my family in the audience. I won the first (and later, third) round of episode 586.