Radio: The Enormity of It

Not since the early days of radio’s Amos ‘n’ Andy had so many Americans waited so breathlessly for an evening broadcast. The question “Will he go for it?” was self-explanatory, whether asked in taxi, train, hotel lobby or on a city street. The he in this case was Marine Captain Richard S. McCutchen. The 28-year-old naval science instructor at Ohio State, father of three and amateur cooking expert, had reached the $32,000 mark on The $64,000 Question by breezily describing the ingredients of five desserts: bombe, zabaglione, olycook, flummery and pfeffernuss.

“Shall he [or she] go for it?” had been asked every week since the program’s first contestant drew in sight of the big jackpot. By the time Bible-quoting Mrs. Catherine Kreitzer and Opera Lover Gino Prato stopped at $32,000. newspapers were explaining (often with contradictory results) just how much a final winner would have to give the Government in taxes. Most figurers agreed that if a contestant won a $64,000 jackpot, his additional $32,000 would be pared down to a mere $10,000 by the cruel revenooers.

Indian Giver. Crumped the San Francisco Chronicle: “As matters stand, the poor fellow who answers the $64,000 question will be able to bank but a small hat ful . . .” The Roanoke (Va.) World-News charged the show was “an illusion—a tax snare” and argued that “Uncle Sam’s role in these TV giveaways is that of an Indian giver.” Even the left-wing New Republic seemed shocked by the enormity of it all, since a successful contestant “. . . would have seen the income tax people (who don’t know a thing about the Bible or Shakespeare) grab $19,000 of the kitty, leaving only . . . $13,000 for the extra risk.”

Some commentators turned away from the glint of gold long enough to isolate a few moral principles. Manhattan’s brash Daily News, long the champion of the ruggedest sort of individualism, surprised its readers with an editorial essay in praise of contestants who stop at $32,000: “Practice moderation consistently,” urged the News, “and you are very unlikely to go broke, die of overeating or overdrinking, make enemies unnecessarily or make a fool of yourself.” The New York Post turned the subject over to its prize pundit, Max Lerner. In a six-article series, Lerner pontificated that “anyone who takes American popular culture seriously must try to get at … the sources of The Question’s success . . . what it reveals about the American mind and about where TV is . . . heading.” Lerner finally decided that the show was, in part, a morality play: “It is Huey Long’s ‘Every man a king,’ put into TV language, but altered to say that even ordinary people can become high-bracket taxpayers—at least for one year.”

Postgraduate Quiz. Meanwhile, Sponsor Revlon was not deaf to the call of duty. If one quiz show was a smash hit, why not two? The producer, Louis G. Cowan, Inc., came up with a new idea called Panelopoly (a portmanteau word combining panel and monopoly), which would feature a panel of four amateur experts who would answer questions on their specialties. Adman Norman Norman sees Panelopoly as a sort of postgraduate course for contestants who have tried for the top money on The $64,000 Question. Explains Norman: “I got to thinking along this line when I realized that Mrs. Kreitzer and Gino Prato and Gloria Lockerman [the speller] were still big news long after they left the show. Why shouldn’t we continue to take advantage of these people? They belong on Panelopoly.”