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Dig A Hole: Larry Harmon, the Architect of Bozo

July 3rd, 2008 by Scott Marks

If you listen carefully, you can almost hear Ringmaster Ned blow his whistle and ask that time honored question, “WHO’S YOUR FAVORITE DEAD CLOWN?”

BOZO!!!

But wait, this isn’t some franchised clown clone sporting the traditional red, white and blue jumpsuit and sugar-cone-tipped orange hair. We’re talking the progenitor, apex and architect of Boz, Larry Harmon.

Well, not really. I mean the clown kicked, but to my surprise Larry Harmon was not Bozo’s creator. That dubious distinction goes to Disney voice artist Pinto “Goofy” Colvig who originated Bozo the Clown when Capitol Records introduced a series of children’s records in 1946. Harmon first met his future alter ego (or was it the other way around?) while answering a casting call to make personal appearances dressed as Bozo T. Clown to help promote the record.

On Thursday, Larry Harmon died at his home in Los Angeles of congestive heart failure. He was 83.

Harmon eventually bought the rights to Bozo, added a few personal touches to the costume and became a clown guru and Boz’s biggest supporter. And you know what they say about a man who wears a size 47EEE shoe!

According to the Associated Press, Harmon’s place in history was challenged in 2004 by Milwaukee’s International Clown Hall of Fame. (Sounds like the vacation destination from hell.) The bastards removed a plaque honoring him as Bozo and formally endorsed Colvig for creating the role. Harmon denied ever misrepresenting Bozo’s history.

He said he was claiming credit only for what he added to the character — “What I sound like, what I look like, what I walk like” — and what he did to popularize Bozo.

“Isn’t it a shame the credit that was given to me for the work I have done, they arbitrarily take it down, like I didn’t do anything for the last 52 years,” he told the AP at the time.

Before John Wayne Gacy delivered a black eye to clowns everywhere, Harmon personally trained over 200 full grown men who wanted to wear a funny costume, hang around small children all day and sing about Bozo’s “pocket rocket.”

What did it take to make a good Bozo? Harmon said, ” “I’m looking for that sparkle in the eyes, that emotion, feeling, directness, warmth. That is so important.” The records, cartoon spin-off, merchandising, character licensing and personal appearances made Harmon a very wealthy man.

He was fiercely covetous of his stolen creation, going so far as trying to have the more derisive connotation of the word “bozo” stricken from the record. And woe unto those who donned a similar costume. Harmon’s crack legal team would be on them like yellow on Frazier Thomas’ sport coat.

Bob Bell

Harmon’s most successful pupil was WGN-TVs Bob Bell who assumed the role of Chicago’s favorite clown between 1960 until he hung up his (artificial) red nose 1984. Bell and Bozo were so popular that there was a ten-year wait for tickets to a live taping of the lunchtime show. I went with my fourth grade class, but sadly the tips, and the tips only, of the magic arrows never landed on me, but I did get a free Bun (by Wayne) candy bar.

If there is a God, funeral services will be held at 2501 W. Bradley Pl. The notable pall bearers, including Oliver O. Oliver, Sandy the Clown, Mr. Ned, Bob Trendler, Cooky the Clown and Golly the Gorilla, will carry Mr. Harmon’s remains to the studio where he will forever be interred in Bucket #6.

Links:
Classic Chicago TV and Radio Memoribilia

Bozo le Clown

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Treasured Memories About Growing Up In Chicago, The Sequel: The Billy Goat Tavern

July 1st, 2008 by Scott Marks

Credit anjan58 @ Flickr.com

Credit anjan58 @ Flickr.com

How many nights did I close the Goats?

Long before John Belushi’s myth-making “Cheezeborger, Cheezeborger” transformed the Billy Goat Tavern into a tourist attraction, it was my bar of choice and it remained that way until the day I moved. It was the great equalizer, a place to drink with friends who hawked beer and Frosty Malts at Wrigley Field or catch a burger before hitting a screening with David Elliott. (Elliott never drinks…in public.)

There was nothing phony or pretentious about the subterranean watering hole. Buried beneath the Tribune Building in the bowels of Lower Michigan Ave., the Goat never saw the light of day. It was a spacious dive, it’s main room to the right as you walk in, the food court in the middle with an L-shaped bar off to the right. The nicotine lacquered walls were adorned with photos of many Chicago dignitaries.

Mike Royko wrote lovingly about the joint and many a night I saw the great Chicago journalist throwing back a few with everyone from Sun-Times pressmen to characters destined to influence his next Slats Grobnick column.

La Toitel (Credit Andrew Huff @ Flickr.com)

When I first started going there they actually had a live goat roped in a room located behind the bathrooms (Billy for boys, Nanny for girls). The hangout’s originator William Sianis was nicknamed “Billy Goat” for his uncanny resemblance to bovidae. Unfortunately, I never had the privilege of meeting the man. His son Sam Sianis, a stocky, flat-nosed Greek scrapper with the tail of his necktie forever tucked between the third and fourth button holes of his shirt, rose to power after the old Goat croaked.

Sam occasionally made an appearance at the grill (usually when the tour bus delivered a load of gawkers), doing his best imitation of Sianis-doing-Belushi-doing-Sianis. You could tell that the guy hated being reduced to a boneheaded stereotypical immigrant, but if it’s good for business…NO COKE…PEPSI!. On Saturday Night Live, the catchphrase was “No Coke…Pepsi,” while in fact the Goat served the most turned on Coca-Cola in greater Chicagoland. The high syrup-to-carbonation ratio of their pharmaceutical Coke was indeed invigorating. And a Boston coffee was always in order, particularly on those nights when it helped thaw the winter chill.

During my regime, a Greek fella named Paul was the chief burger flipper. This guy made the best goddamned double cheeseburger, so good that that’s what he called it. My pack and I would walk in the door, Paul would light up, hit the bell and yell out, “One goddamned double cheeseburger!” which was invariably followed by a softer, more sincere, “on a hard roll or bun?” I adore creatures of habit!

Credit mnScouser @ Flickr.com

The horror…the horror… (Credit mnScouser @ Flickr.com )

Continue reading Treasured Memories About Growing Up In Chicago, The Sequel: The Billy Goat Tavern

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Dig A Hole: Wally Phillips, Voice of Chicago’s WGN Radio, for sure!

March 27th, 2008 by Scott Marks

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Wally and gansermacher Benie Stein clown around at a Variety Club Casino Night, fer sure!

There is no more name in the black box Wally Phillips designed to outwit psychics, only his corpse. Mmm, hmm, the former WGN-Radio legend has died at the age of 82, and that’s for sure.

In a magnanimous display of people helping people, I’ll be sending his widow a Seymour Paisan scarf and a certificate for dinner at the Berghoff’s.

Phillips, who was born on July 7, 1925, in Portsmouth, Ohio, backed into radio superstardom quite by accident. A Steve Allen-ish ‘man on the street’ bit recorded for a college drama school class landed Wally a job as a radio announcer on a small station in Grand Rapids, Mich.

By 1950 Wally was working for WCPO/Cincinnati, where he attracted listeners with his cornball sense of humor and wacky radio stunts. On October 1, 1956, Ward Quall, the Goy who put the ‘G’ in WGN, brought Phillips to Chicago and a radio dynasty was born.

At the same time Wally was brought on board, Quall hired another iconic Chicago clown, Bob ‘Bozo’ Bell. According to WGN.com, Quaal felt it was his, “Good fortune and honor to introduce both Phillips and Bell to Chicago.”

Between 1965 and 1986 Phillips was the undisputed king of morning drive. With his patented ultra-sincere sincerity and well-rehearsed spontaneous shtick Phillips was considered a pioneer of modern talk radio. He was one of the first deejays to make prank phone calls. Wally’s idea of fun was calling a gymnasium and asking for “Jim Shoe.” Mmm hmm, now that’s what I call a good rib-tickler. Don’t worry, though. It was never Wally’s intention to be cruel or malicious and every good sport who fell victim to one of his lame phonies was rewarded with a gift from the WGN prize closet.

The Chicago Tribune must have been thinking of Bruner, not Phillips, when they wrote that Wally’s “delivery occasionally had an edge to it.” They cite the time he tracked down formal-wear mogul Ben “Tuxedo Junction” Gingiss on a cruise ship on the Pacific Ocean and got him on the phone, saying “We’re down here at the store. . . . Where do you keep the fire extinguisher?” Mmm hmm!

Or how about when Wild Man Wally started a broadcast day by chatting with porcine farm reporter Orion Samuelson about the coming Stomach Rumbling Finals in Stuttgart, Germany? Now you know where Lenny Bruce got his act.

With the strongest signal of any radio station in the Midwest, it’s no wonder Phillips was always number one in his slot. Wally was worshiped by farmers and Tinley Park dupas alike. The average age of one of Wally’s listeners was dead. He had tons of freebies to give away which callers didn’t have to beg too hard to get.

Whenever the topic of movies came up, my mother would encourage me to call the show. I did and won a pair of tickets to a preview screening of Franklin Schaffner’s Papillon at the United Artists Theatre. Parking was a bitch and by the time we got there the only remaining seats were in the far balcony and off to the side. It threw my entire enjoyment of the show (which I saw again opening weekend, properly seated fourth row center, at Benie Steins’ Golf Mill Theatre) off kilter.

I called the show the next day to thank Wally for the tickets and give my review. Try as I might, I couldn’t cajole a free dinner out of him.

Phillips’ “art” was seamlessly dropping sound effects or dialog from old movies amidst his blabby banter. Advertisers craved the “Phillips touch” that Wally brought to each commercial.

So big was Wally’s recognizability that he actually penned a local best seller. You can probably find a copy of The Wally Phillips People Book on eBay for a buck, fifty cents if it’s autographed.

My parents…EVERYBODY’S parents listened to Wally Phillips in the 60s and 70s. It was only a matter of time before a couple of “loathsome toadies” found plenty of room for satire in Phillips’ sing-song delivery and vanilla observations. Steve Dahl and Garry Meier took Wally, and just about the entire ‘GN roster to task on a daily basis. While Dahl’s impression was anything but dead on, he did manage to capture Wally’s rhythm and vocal inflection, hmm mmm, fer sure! Steve and Garry did the unimaginable: they made Wally Phillips listenable.

Occasionally he had guests on the show. (My kingdom for a tape of Mickey Rooney touting Christianity and his school of acting for teens!) The real stars of the show were the callers. No matter how dense, cigarette-throated or thick-tongued they might be, Wally always displayed the patience of a saint.

And was there anything more captivating than the 10 am baton pass between Wally and the even more white bread Roy Leonard? My left leg is beginning to fall asleep just thinking about it!

Not much has been written about Wally’s off-air existence and my memory of on air discussions has long since faded. I couldn’t find any information on his marriage, but do recall that every housefrau’s dependable dream man divorced and remarried his wife Barbara, thus setting off a mini-scandal in kitchens all across the western suburbs.

Wally was also loved for being a charitable soul with his annual Christmas gift to families across Chicagoland, the Neediest Children’s Fund. It was impossible to ignore as was the Variety Club trailer that seemed to open every movie in the early 70s. I saw it more times than I have Duck Soup! It’s been over thirty years, but that damned pity pitch remains forever ingrained on my brain. From underneath his layer cake toupee and surrounded by kids in sickbeds, Phillips warned “You may never get to meet the little boy or girl you help, but chances are without your help they may not make it.” After that, the house lights would go up and pimply faced ushers would pass a plastic sherbet container with a slot cut in the top through the crowd.

Having had enough of the morning grind, in 1986 Wally moved to an afternoon show where he was never able to duplicate his sunup success. When last heard on WGN, Wally had a noontime program that generated from an assortment of local eateries, most notably Arnie Morton’s Rush Street dive. It was a simple formula: Wally would roam the tables shoving his microphone in the faces of unsuspecting celebrity diners. Guests’ blue plate specials cooled as Wally attempted to warm the hearts of his audience. “Mmm hmm, before he sinks his knife into that plate of veal scallopini, let’s see if we can’t get former governor Jim Thompson to say a few words to our listeners.” The best shows were those with a low lunchtime turnout. Phillips was forced to interview waiters and busboys. It made for riveting radio!

In 1996, after 42 years on the air, the venerable voice of Chicago radio retired from WGN. Wally’s last stand was a weekly two hour program heard on WAIT, a tiny AM station located in Crystal Lake.

The last time I saw Wally was around five years ago on a Chicago Tonight interview with Bob Sirott. This was just about when traces of Alzheimer’s disease began setting in, a subject Phillips openly acknowledged. He spoke in a slower clip and appeared shrunken to the point that his famous rug fit him like an oversized helmet. The disease would eventually claim his life.

At one point or another everybody tuned into Wally’s show if for no other reason than to hear whether or not the previous night’s snow warranted school closings. Yes, I listened. I listened a lot. Not only did Wally provide the city with an invaluable source of information as it happened, in an odd way his parallel universe acted as a personal set up for things to come. Ultimately, it’s shows like his that make me appreciate Howard Stern’s honesty and outspokenness all the more.

For sure, how about a 1980 commercial for The Wally Phillips Show from Fuzzy TV Memories?

photos: Chicago TV & Radio

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“Garfield Goose and Friends” & “Clutch Cargo”: Vintage WGN Chicago TV Memorabilia

March 22nd, 2008 by Scott Marks

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The success of WGN’s Garfield Goose and Friends (1952 - 1967) transformed the Goose Who Thinks He’s King of the United States into a household name throughout Chicagoland. When merchandising tie-ins were still in their infancy, Gar became a celebrity spokes-clacker for Pepperidge Farm baked goods.

These oversized buttons (the picture is just slightly larger than the pin-back itself) were handed out as promotional items in the early 60s. Mine came to me while working the counter at Flashback Collectibles on Clark Street.

One day a fellow sauntered in with a box containing rare items of unknown origin. (The store adhered to a strict “we ask no questions, you tell no lies” policy.) I probably blew two weeks pay on the contents. A half-dozen original glass slides from the opening credits, the header card for the elusive hand puppet, 8 x 10 pictures, a Chicago American TV guide, buttons and even a poster featuring Gar, Romberg Rabbit and Frazier Thomas hawking Ked’s Redball Jets (which fetched a handsome price on eBay a few years back).

So much gold! There was also an unused Garfield patch identical to the one that Frazier wore on the breast pocket of his blindingly yellow Century 21 sport coat. (Who says fat people have to hide behind dark colors?)

garfield-goose-patch.jpg

Here is a rather glaucomic clip from the affectionately name Fuzzy TV Memories of the opening credits and Gar in drag doing a Norman Bates-ish turn as Mama Goose.

Also contained in the corrugated treasure chest were several items featuring show regular Clutch Cargo. In fact, the only goody that I didn’t grab up was the mint (and I do mean mint) Clutch Cargo Coloring Book.

Postcards:
CLUTCH CARGO

SPINNER AND PADDLEFOOT

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Not sure whether the bobble-heads pictured on this postcard ever hit store shelves or were just prototypes.

Adventure Club Certificate:
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Sticker:
clutch-cargo-sticker.jpg

Easily the rarest jewel in the pile was a 16mm, dye-transfer print of the show’s opening credits. The colors remain eye-popping, particularly the kaleidoscopic burst emitted throughout the WGN logo. When I moved to San Diego in 2000 to assume the position of the Museum of Photographic Arts (MoPA) inaugural film curator, you can bet that the credits came with me. What I didn’t anticipate was how quickly they would hit the museum’s screen.

It was the theater’s black tie, opening night gala and each plush seat in the 226-seat auditorium was packed with wealthy donors. Since it was the newly-installed theater’s maiden voyage, I thought it fitting to baptize the film program with student shorts by major directors. (Godard’s All the Boys are Named Patrick, Truffaut’s Les Mistons, Jane Campions’ Peel, David Lynch’s The Grandmother and, what else, Martin Scorsese’s It’s Not Just You, Murray.)

According to Theatre Management 101, the projectionist has final cut and my operator was a doozy. Introduced through a mutual friend, Zosch (not his real name) certainly had the background and experience to do the job. He was also, how should I put this…a bit eccentric, something expected from anyone who enjoys spending their nights alone and in a cramped booth. Zosch was a “nervous” type, frequently covered in what my boss later referred to as “100 proof flopsweat.”

After completing my liturgical preamble before the erudite aggregation I set about introducing the evening’s first offering, Marty’s Murray. The hush that fell over the crowd was soon replaced by puzzled gasps. Instead of my mint 16mm print of Murray, the strains of Monkey on a String and a cartoon flicker of a Technicolor goose assaulted the assemblage.

It’s one thing to misplace reels, but any professional projector-threader, drunk or sober, should instantly be able to detect the difference between black-and-white and color film stocks. (Didn’t he know that Marty couldn’t afford color film stock until The Big Shave?) The auditorium doesn’t have direct access to the booth and in the time it took me to rocket my way through the atrium and up the stairs, the brief credit scene had unraveled into a Clutch Cargo cartoon spliced to the end of Gar’s celluloid tail.

After seven months of blowing more reel changes than a Vegas hooker does conventioneers, Zosch was shown the door. Nine years later and it’s funny, but at the time images of a projectionist dangling by a thread of countdown leader invaded my every thought.

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Filed Under Image Blog, KPBS Radio Shows, Rants

Dig A Hole: Chicago TV anchor Randy Salerno

January 25th, 2008 by Scott Marks

randy-salerno.jpg

Having been away from the Chicago TV scene for going on nine years, my last recollection of Randy Salerno was on the WGN News at Noon.

WGN was never known for their cutting edge and something about Salerno always seemed out of place. First off, he possessed a certain degree of wit, something that you’ll never find in Steve Sanders or Allison Payne. When Randy read the news he made viewers aware that there was something more going through his head than just teleprompter copy.

The only thing surprising about his jump to WBBM was that it took so long.

Randy Salerno was killed last night in a freak snowmobiling accident. His snowmobile broke down and while hopping a ride from a lifelong friend, they slid off the trail, Randy was thrown from the vehicle and hit a tree.

My thoughts and prayers go out to his wife and three children. Randy Salerno was 45.

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